


The Long Way Home

by DanyellaSkylerSilverfire, notbug (KageKashu)



Series: Roads Untraveled (Healer-verse) [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: I don’t actually know medicine, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Past Abuse, Pre-Slash, Slow Burn, high fantasy elements, inaccurate animal husbandry, so take this with a grain of salt, starting to look like
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2019-09-25 23:16:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17130557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanyellaSkylerSilverfire/pseuds/DanyellaSkylerSilverfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KageKashu/pseuds/notbug
Summary: Sixteen year old Tobirama leaves everything behind, to change what he feels he must, and becomes a wandering healer along the way. And although he tries to keep his head down, he’s too good to go unnoticed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When I was first reading the part of the manga where Hashirama and Tobirama were first introduced as more than weapons made from heroes of the past, there was a particular scene which I may have misinterpreted, where Hashirama threateningly raises his chakra, telling Tobirama to “put his finger back down”. The way I originally read the scene, it looked like Tobirama _flinched_ when Hashirama raised his chakra, and... It seemed like a strange - very much not good - reaction to have to his brother. It stuck with me, and for a long time, I've been batting around the idea for this fic with my rubber wall.
> 
> (There's no update schedule for this one. It comes very slowly. If I have a chapter ready, it'll be up on ~~Sundays~~ Saturday morning!)

The coastal winds howl and chill him to the bone, but it’s nothing compared to the hollow scream building in his chest. He can’t go back, not when he feels like this. If he goes back, the next time Hashirama raises his hand, for any reason, Tobirama will flinch, and... it’ll break his brother’s heart. 

This time, he froze halfway between fight and flight, and thankfully, Hashirama had taken his stillness as acquiescence to his will, even though that wasn’t it at all. 

Salt spray stings his face, and he grimaces out at the water. It was the first time Hashirama raised his voice to him since that disastrous mission in the mine, but it was that _look_ that caused the adrenaline to rush uselessly through his veins, the way Hashirama’s chakra raised threateningly. All of his arguments petered out at Hashirama's version of "It's going to be that way because I said so." In some ways, Hashirama was exactly like their father, dangerously pigheaded. In others... 

Butsuma was a far better manipulator - but he wasn’t even half as charming. If it hadn’t been for some of their father’s ideas as to how the clan should be run after his inevitable passing, this wouldn’t be happening. It was Butsuma’s appreciation for Tobirama’s tactical mind, and Hashirama’s... more brutish qualities, that convinced the man to train them the way he did. He claimed that they balanced each other, but it was their sister who was stuck balancing them. 

And now she is home, alone, with an infant that she doesn’t know what to do with. He wants to go back and help her with Kagami, but he can’t go back and face Hashirama with this icy feeling in his gut. They would only argue again. And if Hashirama was in the wrong mood? Fight again. 

The elders seemed to see his fights with Hashirama as insubordination, and sought to use it, nevermind that he’s always refused to go behind his brother's - the clan head's! - back in anything. The clan members saw their fights, and when they picked apart the cause, Tobirama was often painted as a monster, next to his near saintly idiot of a brother. Just because he sees to grim practicality, while his brother spouts useless idealism. 

His brother... well, he couldn't say he knew what Hashirama thought of their fights. It was possible that he didn't even realize that they _were_ fights. Even when Tobirama occasionally walked away from spars with injuries that shouldn’t have happened to begin with. Hashirama often went into spars with him while angry, and... Tobirama could handle that. He can. 

The ocean spray and the howling of the wind help quiet his thoughts, after a time, but he feels no urge to turn around and go home. Even though he knows he must return, he needs to get his head back together. He needs to be able to look Hashirama in the eye and not flinch away from him, no matter what. 

Once he can convince himself that he won’t flinch anymore, he’ll go back. Once he cuts away this unforgivable fear of his own brother, Tobirama will return home. 

* * *

It takes months before he realizes he isn’t going back any time soon. He left everything identifiable as Senju related in a small cache, hidden in a sheer bluff, where waves crash hard against their base. That particular spot is stable. Any time he wants to retrieve his things, he can. 

He wasn’t gone a week before he hid them away. 

It took longer to strip the dyes from his hair, the chakra stains from his skin. He still has his glasses, handmade and unique, but never worn often enough for his clan members to recognize them on sight. 

He has basic iryo-nin training, and he uses it to bargain for necessities. Rice, mostly. Sometimes clothing, especially as winter approaches. He starts making a name for himself, on accident, shortly after abandoning his overly unique given name. It isn’t something that concerns him, and since he doesn’t give them a name to use, people make up one, and take to calling him Shiro, for his white hair. 

By the time winter sets in, making travel difficult, he decides to try living as a hermit in one of the northern mountains. He’s only successful in that he finds that he can live like that, if it’s necessary. Much to his disgust, he finds that he misses people too much, and when spring comes, melting the path back down the mountain, he goes. 

But he doesn’t go back home. 

He doesn’t know if he ever will. 

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madara’s clan healers tell him it’s time to say goodbye to his brother. He looks into another option.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Medicine in the world of Naruto: Especially before the Founders’ Era, it can’t have been well developed yet. So what we have here is a mix of magic, ancient Chinese medicine and the lack of logic that is Victorian medicine... and a logical character.

Tensions are rising, nationwide, making his clan’s already awkward position all the more tenuous, and Madara can’t even bring himself to care. 

Because Izuna is dying. That's what the healers say. He’s dying, and his body just doesn't know it yet. The fainting spells are getting worse, his fingers and toes are growing numb. And the dumbass smiles and laughs it off like there’s nothing wrong. But while Izuna is sure he’ll be back on his feet soon enough, the healers tell Madara that they will be burying him within a month. 

Other clans wouldn't help even if they could ask, and Madara wants to rip out his own hair and scream at the night sky at the unfairness of it all. Instead, here he is, looking for a needle in a haystack - an unaffiliated iryo-nin that one of his clansmen swears saved her life on a mission gone sour. 

And although her description seems unlikely, at best - albino, _young_ , though her idea of young is dubious, and nigh blind doesn’t sound like a description one would attribute to a master healer - Madara is searching for this "Shiro" character anyway. Beyond his shinobi's description, there are plenty of rumors about the wandering healer. That one of the clans hadn't snapped him up amounts to one of two things: Either he isn't the great healer that rumor makes him out to be, or he’s a better fighter than most of those who focus on the healing arts. 

Madara sighs with relief, spotting the lone figure coming down the road after one wasted week of searching. His pace is too brisk for a civilian, and he matches the most up-to-date description beautifully, right down to the pack jangling at his back, the tall walking stick, the high scarf protecting his face from the bite of late winter, and the thickness of his waist that speaks more of bundled clothing than fat. He seems unconcerned of Madara's presence. That, or unaware. Madara’s one of his generation's finest, so the latter wouldn't come as a surprise. 

Yet, in spite of such musings, the man comes to a stop not five feet away. He doesn’t say a word, just stands there, waiting, head cocked curiously in Madara's direction. It’s the moment of truth. "Are you the healer they call Shiro?" 

After a small eternity, the man sighs and nods. "What do you want?" His voice is quiet and smooth, but somehow confrontational. There’s also a familiar lilt to it that Madara can’t quite put his finger on. Whatever it is, he’s certain that he doesn’t know this man. His chakra is odd enough - a strange, silvery purple that feels _strong_ , but somehow distant and confined at the same time, which speaks of great control - that Madara would have known him if he’s sensed it in the past. 

Madara’s lips press tightly together. According to rumor, Shiro reacts best when asked simply. Demands will get one nowhere, and although Madara's pride insists on the second type of approach, Izuna is far more important. "My brother..." he begins, forcing the words out past the warning clogging his throat, "...is very ill. I've... heard that you're... an excellent healer. Unaffiliated. My own clan's healers are telling me that it's hopeless, but if you..." 

One gloved hand - smaller than Madara expected - raises to silence him. "You want me to help your brother?" Shiro asks, his voice lacking inflection, but his eyes shifting in discomfort. When Madara nods, miserably hopeful, the albino seems to smile, in spite of his face being mostly hidden by the scarf. "Lead the way, then." 

Madara blinks. That’s it? No demands for compensation, just a bland "lead the way"? It takes Madara a moment to regain his composure, but when he does, he says, "Alright." 

They start slow. Most iryo-nin wouldn't be able to keep up with him, so Madara decides to adjust his pace as necessary. It isn't long before he was at the highest speed he can comfortably sustain, and the healer just lopes alongside him, white lashed eyes half-lidded and not even breathing hard. "Tell me your brother's symptoms," Shiro says, his voice a soft purr barely audible over the sound of the air rushing past Madara's ears. "It wouldn't hurt to have some idea of what I'll be working with." 

* * *

It’s a strange situation that Tobirama finds himself in. He doesn't consider himself much of a healer - competent, yes, but above all things, he doesn't have an appropriate bedside manner. The most common words out of his mouth, back when he was doing rotations with the clan healers, were, "What did you do this time?!" and "Are you a fucking idiot?" and "Sorry, you can't cure stupid." He has been told on numerous occasions that if all he was going to do was insult the patients, then he shouldn't volunteer. It was hardly his fault that most patients came in with a severe case of stupid. 

(They wouldn't let him treat that. Not even his grandmother would let him treat that, although the old woman sympathized.) 

No, he isn't much of a healer. With such a low tolerance for idiocy, it’s a wonder that Tomoyo-baabaa had been willing to teach him. Yet, he knows how it was that he had gotten dragged into it. Why couldn't he be as heartless as others claimed? He couldn't quite turn down one person in need, and somehow, word got around - it helped that they thanked him with food, and other supplies. He clammed up when asked his name - someone rightly guessed that he didn't want to return to his clan - and was eventually, and unimaginatively, dubbed "Shiro-sensei" by those he had helped. 

And it felt good, helping without expecting anything in return, to do it because he wanted to, and not because of some agenda. So he decided to leave politics behind, along with his name, his chakra signature (such an easy thing to hide, if one knows much of the sealing arts), his chakra markings (though they will return, given time, he can always remove the chakra stains again), and various staining soaps that hid the truth of his albinism. Some of his restraint was left behind, as well. He speaks his mind more often than not these days, when he bothers speaking at all. 

At some point, he made a vow: He will try to help any who asked. But he won’t allow anyone to force his hand. 

And now that vow is biting him in the ass. He never expected Madara of all people to seek him out and ask for help. Proud and angry Madara, who Tobirama usually only saw from afar, who is possibly one of the most dangerous men in the world... He can only be thankful that Madara hasn't seen through his half-assed disguise, even with more than a year since he had last seen him. Sure, he’s grown in that time, and his voice deepened, finally stopping with the adolescent cracking that plagued him before he left, but... it’s almost insulting that no one connects him to the missing Senju. 

If anything would break through Madara's stubborn pride, it would be a threat to his brother. Tobirama listens to the rundown of Izuna's symptoms, mentally comparing them to an internal list of known problems that could be the cause. So far, he has: potential brain damage, spinal damage, poison, leprosy, spinal infection. There are also several different parasites that could be blamed for the symptoms. It’s even possible that there’s more than one thing, but he leans toward poison, knowing the contacts the Uchiha have. The symptoms are suspiciously familiar. 

Upon reaching the Uchiha compound, Tobirama finds that it’s kept far warmer than he likes. He’s soon sweltering in his thick winter clothes, and Madara doesn’t seem to notice his discomfort. He’s lead deeper and deeper, down several flights of stairs, and through a veritable maze of hallways, that grow warmer as they go. Eventually, Madara pauses, as though gaining his bearings, and turns abruptly in a different direction, still dragging Tobirama along. 

The somewhat strained silence that has been accompanying them since Madara ran out of words to describe what was going on with his brother is broken when the man starts muttering to himself. 

"I thought I told that moron to stay in bed," he growls - and although he could barely hear Madara's voice, that tone makes his stomach give a confused flop, half from a spike of fear, as he knows very well how dangerous Madara is, and half from something else that he decides not to examine too closely, because it’s _Madara_ , and he’s a damned _teenager_ , so he shouldn’t be reading too much into such physical reactions anyway. And he already has enough issues with Madara, without adding something like that to the pool. 

They come to a stop a short distance from one of the strongest chakra signatures Tobirama has ever felt - likely Izuna, which he only has trouble recognizing because the very seal that scrambles his chakra signature also taints his ability to sense. Still, his sensitivity is as adroit as ever. He merely has to memorize anew the signatures he has known most of his life... if only to keep his freedom. 

The new room turns out to be a small kitchen, though he’s quickly distracted from the fact. Izuna is, indeed, just inside. He’s also in the process of fainting. Tobirama watches him fall, bemused, and mentally adds "fainting" to the list of symptoms - somehow Madara had missed that one, though it doesn’t actually change his list much. Beside him, Madara squawks at his brother, a litany comprised of variants of "I told you so" and "Holy fuck, are you okay?" 

"I'm fine, I'm fine," comes the voice from the floor. Once Madara crouches next to him, Izuna adds, "Is it a fire hazard that a... no, I'm not sure what that is, but it's under the stove, and I can't reach it..." 

Tobirama sighs. For one thing, this already doesn't look promising, even though he still favors the poison theory. For another... "I don't suppose you have a place I can put my things before I start?" He’s still boiling in his winter clothes. 

"You can put it down right here, and someone will take care of it for you," says Madara, looking up at him from Izuna's side. 

Taking him at his word, Tobirama drops his pack. There’s nothing inside that’s irreplaceable, other than perhaps the scroll with his camping gear. And that’s only because there are a lot of items within it that he had made with his own hands. There’s also nothing within that would link him to the Senju, so it matters little if it’s to be searched. Then he sheds the dirty, cream colored haori that makes up the outermost layer of his clothes. Then the bear fur coat that he plans to cut down to size at some point. 

After several more articles hit the floor, he’s relieved at the feeling of cool air seeping through the worn kimono shirt he wears beneath the rest of it. Aware of several stares - probably because the fur coat had been folded in the middle to keep it from dragging, making him look twice as thick as he actually is - he arches an eyebrow at the most notable culprit. 

Madara wastes no time proving all those stories Hashirama had told him years ago, about how tactless his friend was. "You're _a lot_ smaller than I thought you were!" His tone is wondering, but when Tobirama's eyes narrowed on him, he yelps, "Younger! I meant younger!" As though that’s better. Still on the floor, Izuna begins to laugh. 

"Humorous," Tobirama replies, tone as dry as Suna's Sun's Anvil (where it’s rumored to get negative rainfall). Finally unencumbered and able to breathe, he steps around Madara to look down at Izuna. At this distance, his myopia ensures that Izuna is just a pale blob in front of his feet. "So this is my patient..." He reaches down and pulls the younger Uchiha to his feet, swinging him around to push him into a convenient chair, already using chakra to run a diagnostic from that touch. 

Behind him, someone protests his rough treatment of the clan head's brother, only to be silenced, ironically, by Madara himself. Tobirama is more interested in what lay before him. Izuna looks positively nauseated up close. "Careful!" he protests, uselessly, especially considering that the action Tobirama’s supposed to be careful over is already over and done. 

"Feeling vertigo?" Tobirama asks, keeping his own voice mild. 

"Of course," Izuna replies. "You just swung me around like a sack of rice. It's rude." 

"Forgive me," he says, insincere and vaguely annoyed. He pulls one of Izuna's eyelids up, in order to get a look at his pupil. More than getting to look into an inactive Sharingan eye, he needs to check how well Izuna's eyes dilate. "You're an active shinobi, are you not? That level of inertia shouldn't be difficult to withstand for one of the vaunted Uchiha." He has a chakra-powered penlight for just this kind of circumstance. 

"Aaah! You stabbed me in the eye! Why would you do that?!" One: Izuna is just as dramatic as his brother has been noted for. Two: 

"...photosensitivity. Good to know." 

"Aaah! Why would you do it again?!" 

"Obviously for my own amusement," Tobirama replies, pondering the results of checking the second eye. They don't dilate at the same speed, which might add "stroke" - a more specific type of brain damage - to his internal list. Considering his age and occupation, it can't have been a natural one, either. "Has light been bothering you long?" 

"You aren't supposed to admit stuff like that," Izuna mutters, blinking rapidly from the optical assault. "And it hasn't been bothering me that badly. Who are you, anyway?" 

"Obviously, I'm the healer." 

"Great. And whose idea was that?" he asks. 

"That guy's," Tobirama replies, gesturing at Madara, whose chakra indicates a lot of tension. Understandable, given the situation, but Tobirama has his method, and he isn’t going to miss anything just because someone else is tense. No matter who they are. 

Izuna whines. "Seriously? I can't see who you're talking about!" 

"Not my fault," he says, and hears the first incredulous laugh from one of the room's other occupants. 

"You literally just blinded me!" Izuna's voice is reaching an interesting pitch. 

Tobirama thinks about that for a moment. Technically, Izuna’s right. "Not my problem," he eventually decides. "Open your mouth." With a grunt of irritation, the Uchiha does as asked. An examination of his throat yields little new information - no inflammation to speak of, and his teeth appear to be in very good condition. "Your brother mentioned headaches?" 

"Not... not really bad ones..." And that was a strike against meningitis. Unless Izuna was intentionally understating things. Given that he’s a shinobi, that’s just as likely. 

"A couple more things. Hold out your hand like so." Tobirama demonstrates, holding his own hand level, where Izuna can see if he’s over being blinded. He frowns at the hand Izuna lifts - there’s a hint of blue to his nails, indicating poor circulation, and his fingers remain slightly curled in spite of his instruction. "Hold it flat. Splayed fingers, as straight as you can." 

"I am," Izuna mutters, glaring at his hand. He quickly looks back up, a resigned look in his eyes. "That's not good, is it?" 

"Not particularly," Tobirama replies, taking the hand and pinching the fingers while Izuna isn't looking down at them. There’s no reaction, so... low to mid-level numbness. He purses his lips, thinking. "One more test, then I'll start questioning you, alright?" 

"Alri..." Izuna doesn't even get to finish the word, before the sound of a slap echoes in the room. Tobirama shakes the sting from his fingers while Izuna tries to figure out what just happened. "You..! You slapped me!" 

As if everyone but the one Tobirama had identified as an iryo-nin wasn't tense, Tobirama agrees. Part of this, he can admit, is a low-level fucking with Izuna, because he’s miffed at not being recognized. At the same time, he actually had a legitimate reason to slap his old rival. "Yes. Did it hurt?" 

"Of course it hurt. You _slapped_ me!" He sounds like he wasn't sure if he should be amazed or offended. 

Tobirama sighs again, and clarifies, "Does it sting?" 

Blink. "Uh..." Realization dawns on Izuna's face. Then, voice small, he admits, "No." 

"I thought as much." 

* * *

Madara watches Shiro closely, but he doesn't neglect keeping an eye on the two clansmen who remained to observe the process. One is the healer who had been assigned to keep his eyes on Izuna. The other is the kunoichi that had recommended Shiro in the first place. Junka seems genuinely entertained by Shiro's methods, while the Uchiha healer... seems to be treating this as a learning experience. 

His clansmen just never seem to hold up to his standards. 

"Do you know what's wrong?" Madara asks, after waiting for some clarification on that last comment for longer than he wanted. 

"Hmm?" Shiro's ruby red eyes turn to meet his, but only seem to focus on some middle distance. "Possibly," he allows. "I would rather rule out other things first, however, because my prime suspicion indicates a broader sort of trouble, and I like to avoid these things when I can. Let's move this somewhere more comfortable. I don't feel like standing any more." 

Izuna lets out a little laugh, waving him off when Madara moves to help him up. "This way," he says, forcing a bright smile, and the rest of them - their friend choosing to carry Shiro's things, when the healer carelessly leaves them behind - follow him to a sitting room, where Shiro almost immediately begins querying about other symptoms. 

Much of it is old ground, symptoms that he had mentioned on the way here. The new stuff runs a gamut between embarrassing and weird - such as bringing up impotence, like that’s something you expect of a near seventeen year old - to seemingly pointless - such as asking about all of his recent injuries. During the bizarre interrogation, Madara watches the healer even more closely than before. 

Shiro’s confident in his knowledge, in spite of his strange manner. He’s rude, easily exasperated, and has a sense of humor that borders on sadistic. Yet his attitude, while initially off putting, is quite engaging once Madara had a chance to get used to it. 

Without the scarf hiding most of his face and all those heavy clothes bundled around his waist, he seems almost delicate. Also, young. Very young. Much younger than he expected from his clansman’s description. Madara wants to say he’s around Izuna's age. With the shaggy white hair, long and unkempt, and skin of nearly the same shade, he looks unreal. His eyes, blood red when the light hit them a certain way, are arresting, yet unnerving in such an impassive face. Madara’s already certain that he could stare at that face for hours without getting bored, cataloguing each microexpression as it occurs. 

It’s possible that he’s becoming infatuated. If Shiro manages to heal his brother, he’s completely okay with that. 

* * *

"After a lumbar puncture, we'll know for certain." Tobirama doesn't like it, but it’s the only way to be certain about his theory. "You can have one of your own clan's healers perform the procedure, if you would rather. You can even test it yourselves, so that you’ll have an unbiased result." 

"Tell us what you think it is, first." Madara's voice is softer than it had been before, and his chakra has eased up on the tense wiggle that had been giving Tobirama a headache. "And whether you can treat it." 

"There are several possibilities," Tobirama admits. "And the spinal tap will prove that it is or isn't two of them. I’ve already ruled out the possibility of parasites. A spinal infection is a long shot - not all of the symptoms add up. However, with the apparent nerve damage, that leaves us with: a stroke, brain injury, spinal injury, leprosy, or poison. That it seems to be degenerative indicates one of the latter." By saying both leprosy and poison, he’s giving a clear indicator of just what poison he’s thinking of, and by the twinge of Madara's chakra, he can tell that the man understands the implication. "I can fully treat the poison, mitigate the damage from a physical injury, but there is little I can do for leprosy, as I don’t know enough about the disease." 

"I see," Madara says, voice hard. It matches the angry stillness of his chakra. 

"You'll want to wait until after the spinal fluid is tested before acting on any assumptions," Tobirama says. "That's why I was waiting to say what I thought." 

"If it is poison..." 

He snorts. "Yes, _if_ it is poison, you have more on your hands than a sick brother. Honestly, I would rather it not be poison." If it is, he’ll make the Hagaromo clan an exception to his vow. He doesn't want to deal with anyone so dishonorable as to try to assassinate one of their own allies. 

* * *

While the healers take care of the testing, and Madara stresses himself over Izuna's health, Izuna spends a lot of time laying on his face, recovering from the trauma of a lumbar puncture. He never wants to see such a big needle again. If it hadn't been Hana wielding the giant needle, Izuna just might have cried. As it is, Hana has the steadiest hands, and if he can trust anyone with a giant needle, it’s going to be Hana. 

He’s talking with Shiro - the _healer_ , who he knows from somewhere, but the purple chakra is throwing him off - when Junka (his friend, who kept an eye on him while Madara was gone) comes flying into his room, trailing about a mile of thick grey fur. "Izuna, check out this amazing huge coat! We could put your uncle in it, in full armor, I bet!" 

Shiro makes an aggravated sound. "So that's where my coat went. Not that I need it around here..." He trails off into a disgruntled mutter. "Try not to damage it," he says sternly, then leaves, giving the cheerful drunk a warning glare. 

She cackles loudly, as soon as he’s gone. "This is way too big for him. I mean, look, Izuna..!" She throws the coat over him, its furry interior facing up. She’s right. It’s far too large for someone of Shiro's stature, which begs the question of why he has it. It’s also insanely warm, even with the fur facing outward. "You should keep it for a while," she says, and then, by the sound of it, bounces out of his room. 

And that leaves him alone with his thoughts, beneath a giant bear fur coat. It really is super warm. The fuzzy side probably feels amazing when Shiro’s out in the cold. 

It’s also dark beneath it, so Izuna pushes it just enough aside that he can see his hand laying loosely against the sheets. He flattens it out, scowls at it when his fingers don't straighten. This really is the worst. Nerve damage, no matter how it’s acquired, is often either career-ending or death for a shinobi. He doesn't even want to contemplate the other possibilities Shiro touted. 

Even so... even in the best case scenario, whatever is wrong with him would afflict the clan in some manner. At worst, it’s something virulent, that Shiro hadn't thought of. 

That Shiro, though. It’s easier to focus on him, and the fact that Izuna knows him from somewhere. That shaggy white hair, gruff manner, and especially those red, red eyes, with a delicate tracery of lavender that partly hides the red of his retinae... He wants to think that it’s Tobirama, except, Tobirama never looked so delicate, and his skin’s a darker shade, though not by much, and his hair has a more gray hue. 

Tattoos can be removed, coloring can be changed, but how can he explain away the chakra? 

His voice though. It certainly sounded like Tobirama might, if his voice decided to deepen. Izuna spent enough time with his rival to know his voice intimately well. The shape of his face, those sharp eyes, those were Tobirama's as well. But he can’t discount the chakra. Tobirama's was quicksilver and blue, and edged like a knife, or lightning. Shiro's is muted, lavender and moth scales, with a feathered edge. Both felt like water, but where Tobirama was the clear, tropical ocean, Shiro’s is a cloying fog rolling off a high mountain. It’s a discrepancy Izuna can’t reconcile. 

If he were to work on the assumption that Tobirama somehow changed his chakra to feel so utterly different... What would he do about it? Tobirama hasn't been seen in the field for nearly a year, since that terrible mission in the mines when they had been forced to team up if either of them wanted to survive. Their information network suggested that Tobirama wasn't with the Senju at all during that time, and... 

Izuna has his suspicions on why Tobirama might not be there. He doesn't know how that would have led to him being _here_ , but he’s certain that if Shiro is Tobirama, he isn't on an infiltration mission. Which begs the question: What exactly _is_ he up to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terms: (most of you probably already know these)
> 
> Baabaa: An irreverent way to say “grandma.” English equivalent is things like “granny” or “gran.”
> 
> Sensei: This can mean “teacher” or “doctor.”
> 
> Names:
> 
> Tomoyo: literally “knowledge world,” spelled “知世”
> 
> Shiro: literally “white,” the kanji used is “白”
> 
> Junka: “醇夏,” literally “rich [good as wine], summer.”
> 
> Hana: literally “flower,” the kanji used is “花” (it’s a diminutive)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobirama never planned to stay long.

As a healer, Tobirama has found that there’s always something to do. The Uchiha clan’s healers welcome an extra set of hands, for all that they know he doesn’t intend to stay. Though it’s because of that that they hand the problem patients over into his care. Cantankerous elders, squalling children, the wounded who know they will never be able to return to the field. 

Tobirama does what he can for each and every one of them, with no pity and as minimal exasperation as he can manage. In his experience, each group needs patience more than sympathy, and he doesn’t bother to exercise what little bedside manner he has with any but the children. 

If there’s one thing he misses about clan life, it’s working with children. Their relatively uncomplicated lives are a balm to the soul. Healing, without expecting recompense, does more to heal the damage of the shinobi lifestyle for him, but he still misses the children, and often wonders how those he often worked with are doing. 

Children and noncombatants don’t often make it into the rumors he picks up about the Senju, unfortunately, so he hasn’t even been able to find out how Kukaku’s doing, or baby Kagami. He doesn’t know how his mother’s doing, or any of the rest of his close family. Though he does occasionally hear about Touka. 

And, of course, Hashirama. But he doesn’t want to think of him. Every time he does, he feels sick and conflicted and _guilty_. He thought that by now he would be over things, and be ready to go home. But now... 

The Senju clan isn’t home anymore. At some point, home became an open road and no expectations. It became hope in the eyes of a mother, asking him to help her child. It became the desperation in Madara’s voice, when he said that he had no one else to turn to. It became hiding nothing but his origins, and finally being accepted for it. He doesn’t even have to lie about his past. When questions he doesn’t want to answer are fielded, he merely says that he doesn’t want to talk about it, and other such similar answers. 

The young man he’s running a diagnostic on lets out a derisive sound, nearly jerking his arm out of Tobirama’s hands in impatience. “It’s just a burn, sensei. Slap some salve on it, and let me get back to my spar.” 

And that would be why Hikaku was sent to him. Obnoxious and demanding, and assuming he knows more than the healer treating him. Tobirama gives him a sweet smile that leaves the man blinking. Then he does as instructed, much to Hikaku’s shock. And the pained yelp is satisfying. “Never let it be said that I don’t take instructions well.” 

“I didn’t mean literally!” Hikaku’s voice is halfway between a shout and a whine. 

“Oh? I just assumed that you were the one who knew what needed to be done,” Tobirama replies sarcastically. “Hold still while I bandage it, unless you think you know better than I how it should be done.” 

HIkaku holds his tongue, much to Tobirama’s amusement. 

* * *

The next time Izuna sees Shiro, he knows he was right. “ _Shiro_ , was it?” he asks, tone mockingly friendly. For a moment, he can ignore his brother’s fussing, and focus on the man who probably saved his life. “They tell me that it was poison.” 

Shiro blinks at him, head tilted in that way that Izuna has only ever seen Tobirama do. There’s nothing hostile in his posture. Nothing that would suggest that his presence is some kind of infiltration. “That’s what they call me. And... I wish I could say I was surprised.” 

“I _know_ you.” He frowns at Shiro, silently daring him to lie. Madara’s head whips around to stare first at Izuna, then at Shiro, eyes wide. The healer only shrugs, denying nothing. “Your clan is looking for you.” 

“I wish to maintain my autonomy for now,” Shiro replies, tone as bland as unsalted senbei. “I will remain unaffiliated until I decide to return.” In spite of the blandness, Izuna senses that there’s something on the tip of his tongue that he isn’t going to share. 

Izuna’s own head tilts, considering the other teen. His clothing is a rough patchwork of dull blues and grays that look soft and clean, but... He looks like a particularly cleanly vagabond, right down to the downy scruff barely visible on his cheeks. Like he has no money to his name, in spite of the healthy energy about him. Still, Izuna couldn’t help but mock him further. “A healer, though? Really? I know what I said that one time, but you never seemed like you would have the temperment for it.” He wouldn’t think to question Shiro’s ability. Not after the mines. 

The healer rolls his eyes theatrically, and Izuna thinks it’s both bizarre and hilarious to see his old rival show so much expression, even in the name of sarcasm. “Apparently being _pleasant_ is unnecessary for actually healing people. The desperate rarely care if you’re nice about it, so long as it works.” 

From the corner of his eye, he watches his brother’s mouth move like he wants to say something. What, Izuna has no idea, because Madara’s doing that stupid thing he does... when he has a crush. He gives Madara a judgemental look before rolling his own eyes. “You know, I may have sort of known you before, but... I’ve heard of you recently, too.” 

Shiro doesn’t bother addressing the statement. “Once I’m certain you’re on your way to recovery - as much as one can recover from the Hagaromo’s specialty poisons - I will be taking my leave.” 

Now Madara’s beginning to look distressed, which goes a long way toward confirming the crush theory. He still doesn’t say anything, though, leaving Izuna to continue questioning the healer. “That’s what you’ve been doing, is it? Stay long enough to heal someone, then out as soon as you’re done?” 

It’s interesting to watch the way Shiro’s eyes slide to the side, avoiding his. “It’s been working so far,” he replies, shrugging. 

Izuna huffs, leaning back into the coat that Shiro still hasn’t taken back. “Has it really?” Then he shakes his head. “Stubborn bastard. Whatever. I’m not going to ask any more. Just... If you don’t go back to your clan, and you need a place to hole up? Come back here. We’ll have a place for you.” 

* * *

Madara isn't going to dwell on the fact that his brother knows Shiro. Honestly, anyone who has Izuna's vote is alright by him. And really, if Shiro knows Izuna, that’s only half a step away from knowing _Madara_ , so where does the man get off being all cold and distant whenever Madara tries to talk to him? 

Izuna certainly seems to think of Shiro as a strange, mildly antagonistic friend, and Madara wants to know _all_ of Izuna's friends. Now if only he can get Shiro to talk to him without shying away. He just wants to get to know him. 

Yet, every time they have the opportunity to talk, Shiro grows stiff and formal, and won’t look at him. And Madara can’t even approach the healer without seeing Shiro’s back stiffen, and shoulders square. If he hides away his chakra, he can get closer without it happening, but then, once he’s noticed, it’s worse, like a rabbit spying a hawk’s shadow. 

He wonders if it’s his reputation that makes the healer so wary of him. Shiro interacts with the rest of his clan just fine - Madara had even gotten a good laugh when Hikaku complained to him of rough treatment, especially once he got the full story. He has his slightly antagonistic but almost cheerful arguments with Izuna, treats Junka with a disgusted sort of bemusement. Only Madara gets that wide berth. 

It says depressing things about his reputation, if his reputation is what earned such wariness. 

Madara finally finds him in the central garden, and watches those shoulders tense as he approaches. The healer is wearing his cream colored haori, and his hair disappears underneath its edge. The coat is missing. Shiro isn’t even wearing a scarf against the late winter chill, and the haori sags around him without the bulk of the fur coat beneath it. It makes him look strange and small. 

The gardens are practical. The Uchiha aren’t affluent enough to waste time and resources on something ornamental, and their gardens are tended to by those who can no longer take to the field. Some of the plants in this section are too dangerous, or too frail to be trusted to the hands of children, though the herbs and vegetable gardens are often tended by children and elderly alike. Shiro gazes at the neatly prepared rows, deep in thought, in spite of his tension. 

For once, he doesn’t try to leave immediately, and somehow, that makes Madara wary. 

“Aren’t you cold?” he asks, chafing his arms a little. Even _he_ is cold, and he doesn’t usually have much difficulty with it. No, it’s usually summer’s heat that bothers him. But right now, he’s freezing, and _Shiro_ is out here without his usual bundle of clothes. 

“No.” There’s a flash of a frown, there and gone, on Shiro’s face, and though his expression is impassive, there’s a fresh feeling of stiffness in his posture. For the first time since meeting Madara, he offers something more personal, “Your compound is kept far too warm for my tastes. I prefer the briskness of the outdoors.” 

The haori isn’t even tied shut. The sash Shiro had been wearing when Madara found him is missing entirely. “Fuck,” Madara grumbles, tugging off his own scarf. He pretends not to see the way Shiro’s eyes widen, when Madara loosely loops the thick, woolen material around his skinny neck. “I’m getting cold just looking at you!” For good measure, he tries to fluff up the scarf, so that it holds in heat better. 

Shiro leans away, scowling. In spite of his poorly hidden panic, he musters enough sarcasm to say, “And yet, here you are, forcing your scarf onto me.” 

Madara might feel a little guilty for causing the panic, but... He hates the idea of someone sitting out in the cold like this. If he were a little more confident, a little less perceptive, he would take Shiro by the shoulders and shove him back toward the compound. “It’s because you’re so skinny,” he shoots back, because he’s horrible at interpersonal interactions. 

Unfortunately, the encounter isn’t meant to last, and he’s aware of how uncomfortable he’s making Shiro. He can’t say he understands _why_ , but he can see it in the way Shiro’s fingers twitch and clench, as though he’s wishing he held a weapon. He can see it in those darting eyes, the tightening of his jaw. 

He hates it, but when Shiro nods at him, and walks away, Madara doesn’t follow. 

* * *

The weather hasn’t warmed enough to make Tobirama comfortable with the idea of traveling again, but it won’t be long until he feels like he must. He finds that, without the worries of clan matters behind him, he _likes_ the Uchiha. They’re... warmer, he thinks, than the Senju. It isn’t just in how they treat others. They’re even kind to _him_. 

But soon, there will be no reason to stay. Izuna is already beyond anything Tobirama can do to make things heal faster, and only time will tell of how much of the nerve damage is permanent. He fully intended to leave before he has overstayed his welcome, but... 

Perhaps it will become easier, in time, he muses. With his clan, he had had the benefit of family, of people to rely on. He wasn’t particularly close to most of them, just the small pack he usually ran with (his siblings, a couple of cousins), but... He misses those few, and the Uchiha are just enough like the Senju, that it’s both bizarre and oddly heartbreaking, being here. 

They even have gardens, like the Senju. With no Hashirama to tend them, they aren’t unnaturally vibrant, but he likes them just the same. Someone put a lot of love into this soil, and it shows. The few plants that are hardy enough to be green at this time of year are healthy and strong. He wonders who cares for them. 

Tobirama has been coming out here for the silence, when it gets to be too much. He hasn’t seen anyone but Madara in this part of the gardens, and Madara doesn’t really seem like the gardening sort. 

A quaint saying from somewhere in the south comes to mind - something about speaking of demons - when he senses Madara approach. 

Madara makes no effort to hide his chakra; if he did, he would have a chance of sneaking up on Tobirama. At nineteen, almost twenty - he heard someone say that Madara’s birthday was coming up - Madara’s far more intimidating than his father could ever hope to be. And as the head of a shinobi clan, he can get away with almost anything, as long as his elders don’t mind. 

Tobirama would never have been afraid of Tajima. Hate him, yes. Especially after what the man did to Kukaku. But the man hadn’t been a match for his fury and his blade. Madara on the other hand... Kind, and abrasive, truly well-meaning, but... Tobirama knows that even kind people will turn on him. 

(Except for one, but she’s not here. He hasn’t seen her in nearly a year, and he misses his mother so gods damned much.) 

Madara comes close enough that Tobirama can see him clearly from the corner of his eye, a frustrated pucker to his brow, and dark hair sticking to his lips... which are oddly fascinating. A soft looking bow that doesn’t really suit someone who yells so much. “Why do you do that?” Madara demands, chafing his arms a little less vigorously than usual. 

Perhaps the weather is growing warmer. Funny, because Tobirama hadn’t noticed. “Do what?” 

“You always cringe when I come to talk to you.” Madara is pouting, and it’s _distracting_ , the way his lip sticks out. Strange and distracting, and Tobirama really needs to stop staring at it, no matter how subtle he keeps it. Madara is one of the most honest people Tobirama has met, so whatever it is he’s seeing in that expression, it must be real. 

His eyes travel up to meet Madara’s, which are framed by the thickest eyelashes. If Madara seemed more vain, Tobirama would suspect some kind of cosmetics, to make them look thicker. It takes longer than it should to gather his thoughts, and it isn’t just because of his usual discomfort. He’s not ashamed of this fear he has. It’s _reasonable_ , unlike his fear of Hashirama. "If a dog is stepped on by a cart horse, it'll forever be wary of horses. If a man comes near an Uchiha battlefield, he would be wise to walk away with a wariness of Uchiha Madara." 

Madara squawks and flails, ridiculously offended for a moment, before he suddenly deflates, shoulders sagging, and head falling forward, causing the mass of his hair to slip over his shoulders to hide his face. “Oh. I... I guess I thought it would be something else.” 

That soft tone makes him feel guilty, and although there’s more to his issues with Madara, he cannot tell him that part of the reason he’s so nervous in his presence is because of Hashirama. Because Madara is Hashirama’s friend. If Madara realizes who he is, it only makes sense that the man would go and tell Hashirama where he is. “It’s... rude of me. I apologize.” 

Madara’s head swings up but his hair remains tangled in front of his face. “What?” 

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Tobirama replies, huffing. How hard is that to understand? “When one is rude, and doesn’t intend to be, it’s only appropriate to apologise.” 

Madara continues staring at him through his hair. “You’re... apologizing. For being scared. For being _understandably scared_. And you... don’t see anything wrong with that?” Madara’s voice reaches an interesting pitch by the end, but Tobirama doesn’t understand what he’s getting at. 

“I’m not _scared_ ,” he snaps. “Wariness isn’t the same as fear!” Even if it really is, and he knows he’s being ridiculous, but he doesn’t like the accusation. Even if it isn’t worded like one. “If I was afraid, I wouldn’t have come.” 

With a shake of the head that does absolutely nothing to clear the hair from his face, Madara asks, “Then why did you come?” He shakes his head again, dipping his shoulder to try and get some of the hair back where it belongs. It only half works, so he gives up and starts pushing it back with his hands. 

“You asked,” Tobirama says stiffly. “I made a vow. Even if no one else knew, if I broke it, _I would know_.” 

Madara’s expression is thoughtful now, and he tilts his head slightly. “A vow, huh? What kind of vow? Unless... unless it’s too personal to ask.” There’s a curious undertone in his chakra, shy and hopeful, and gods, Tobirama needs to stop contemplating such inane things. 

“That anyone who asks for my help... I’ll do what I can.” He ducks his chin into the soft blue scarf that he still hasn’t returned. If Madara wants it back, he’ll give it to him, but it’s _comfortable_ , and soft, and he likes it. “It’s not like I need anything most people could give. A bag of rice, a place to sleep. That’s... usually the most I’ll ask for. But if the person asking has nothing, that’s fine. I can hunt for myself.” 

He completely misses the look Madara gives him, but there’s a strange fluctuation in his chakra that makes Tobirama frown. 

(Madara is too busy with his stupid crush to realize that he’s making a stupid face. If he knew, he would be kicking himself. Hard.) 

* * *

Madara’s kicking himself. Izuna mentioned it once to him. Mocked him for his tendency to develop crushes on people who are _not_ good for him, in one way or another. There was that Uzumaki... He had been so pretty, and he was _nice_ and... apparently not made for monogamy. Or even a relationship. 

Then there was Yoshihiko, the charming artist who turned out to have a cult. The less said, the better. And that’s a recent memory, one Madara doesn’t think he’s ever going to get over. A lot of what Yoshihiko said made _sense_ , but... Madara hopes that clarity on the subject will come with time. He certainly doesn’t have it yet. 

Shiro, at least, is nothing like Yoshihiko. Yoshihiko had big ideals, but Shiro _lives_ his ideals. Yoshihiko wanted everything, all the comforts life could give him. Shiro asks for the bare minimum to survive, and works for it. Where Yoshihiko was so much older than him, Shiro’s younger, but he’s easily as much, if not more of a man than Yoshihiko. 

And he’s a healer. It seems safer, in a way, to have a crush on a healer. 

It’s deeply disappointing to find when Shiro plans to leave. Worst birthday present ever. 

Still, he finds reasons to hang around, in spite of having a lot of work as clan head. He wants to convince him to stay, but... Madara knows that would be a poor idea at best. Besides, he suspects that others have already tried to force Shiro to join them. He will have to be content with Izuna’s offer. 

He offers to escort Shiro anywhere he wants to go, but Shiro smiles - Smiles! An actual smile, and it’s blinding and if Madara wasn’t already infatuated, that adorable smile would have done it! - and shakes his head. “I can take care of myself, just fine,” he says. “I’ve been doing it long enough.” 

Madara hasn’t known him long at all, but he hears things like that, and he wonders. He’s already figured that the healer is around Izuna’s age. Seventeen. And he’s been taking care of himself “long enough”. Izuna knows him as belonging to a clan. As recently belonging to a clan. And what Shiro did before. Apologizing to him like that, for being _afraid_. It says poor things about his clan, and Madara can only support Shiro’s decision to take to the road. 

“But if you need anything... You haven’t been paid, so..." 

“I have supplies,” Shiro says, smile turning lopsided. “And I’ve been paid well enough in them.” 

Madara knows that the healer understands what he’s getting at. He’s just being deliberately obtuse. “I mean that I owe you far more than anything you could take. If you need _anything_ , you can come here.” 

The smile dims, Shiro growing uncomfortable. “I can’t..." 

He remembers those little hints, the way Shiro is _afraid_ of him, and says, “I swear to you, if you don’t threaten my clan, I’ll never harm you. You can come back here, and it’ll be safe.” 

It’s almost painful, watching that smile fade into something like confusion. “You’re the head of a shinobi clan,” Shiro says. “You can’t make promises like that.” 

Madara growls. “I can make whatever damned promises I want. As clan head, I have far more choice in the matter than the rest of my clan. They have to follow and obey _me_. And if I tell them to leave you be, they will do so.” He takes a steadying breath, pushes his hair behind his ears. He can’t let himself get so gods damned emotional. “Besides. They like you. Someone could try and hire use to go up against you... You have a reputation, after all. But it’s ultimately my choice whether or not we accept such a contract.” 

Shiro’s lips purse, and slowly, he nods. “I... will take your word for it then.” Red eyes flash away, then back again, firmly meeting Madara’s. “And I’ll see how this road ends. Now. One of your clansmen has run off with my coat, and I want it back.” 

Madara blinks, tries to hide a grin. That coat has been making its rounds around the compound. He suspects that his clan members are all a little enamored of it. He’s even caught Izuna sleeping under the damned thing. “Allow me to help you find it, then.” 

Searching for whoever it is that has the coat turns out to be a nice distraction. Shiro walks beside him without flinching, and... even if he’s leaving today, Madara has to count it as _something_. It’s almost companionable. And when they find Junka, who’s strutting about in her room with it, letting it trail behind her like royalty, he takes great pleasure in helping Shiro bitch her out. 

He doesn’t watch Shiro leave. Madara has good enough senses that he can watch without his eyes, but he deliberately doesn’t. Instead he goes to the garden, observes the neat rows prepared for spring planting, and dwells on the how much dimmer it seems, without seeing Shiro there. 

* * *

Less than a day out, it starts raining pure icy misery onto Tobirama’s head, like insult to injury. He hadn’t _wanted_ to leave! He’s just aware that he needed to. Unfortunately, his layers only protect him so well, and Hi no Kuni isn’t exactly known for cave systems that provide natural shelter, so he’s stuck in the open until he can find something that would suffice. 

“Something” turns out to be a tree with a cavernous hollow beneath its magnificent roots. It’s deep and best of all, _dry_ , and he sets up camp in its shelter. 

As soon as he’s finished setting things up to dry, he falls asleep quickly, not bothering to make food first. When he wakes, his body is stiff and aching, and he feels strangely alone. 

Tobirama ponders that feeling, as he goes through the motions of making a simple breakfast. It can’t be bothering him so soon, can it? Being alone? He shakes himself out of contemplation, and eats, trying to think of nothing. 

He does _not_ miss the Uchiha. He’s only slept twice since leaving, and... He didn’t miss people before, not for weeks after he left home. The few he dealt with regularly were _annoying_ , for one reason or another. Izuna, with his smart ass mouth. Madara with his... invasive company. Junka and her habit of running off with his coat. Hikaku, who quickly learned that Tobirama was not to be trifled with. 

He hadn’t even gotten to meet Madara’s mysterious mother, though he heard occasional mention of her, and of a man named Ate, who he also didn’t get a chance to meet. He does wonder about how big the man must be that that obnoxious woman thought he could wear Tobirama’s coat properly. 

Tobirama, for all the large haori he wears makes him look smaller than he is, isn’t _short_ for his age. He’s certainly taller than Izuna, and more solidly built, besides. The bear fur coat, however, is something that he fully intends to cut down once he’s certain that he’s reached his full height. There’s plenty of excess leather and fur that he can think of many uses for. 

For now, however, he makes certain it dried well in the night, and with trepidation, checks the weather. It’s difficult to tell by sound whether or not the rain has stopped, because the entire forest sounds like running water, and the scent - just more rain rain rain - isn’t helpful either. 

The rain isn’t coming down with yesterday’s intensity, when he checks, and is light enough that he’ll be unbothered, walking in it again. As though his vaguely hopeful thoughts were a cue, the rain turns driving, not ten minutes after he’s left shelter, only now, it isn’t just icy cold, it’s _sleet_. 

Why the hell did he think that this was a good idea? He could have spent the rest of the winter with the Uchiha. That would only be... a couple of months. Surely they could tolerate him that long? 

A sneeze startles him, and he pauses as he reaches the road, scanning himself to make certain that it’s just environmental complaints, and not something that his immune system is going to have to fight. He swears at what he finds. 

Why did he decide to leave the Uchiha? Because he already deeply regrets it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terms:
> 
> Senbei: rice crackers!
> 
> Names:
> 
> Kukaku: means “sky crane,” with the kanji “空鶴”
> 
> Ate: "安殿" means “peaceful heavens”, and is considered archaic


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobirama deals with a particularly noisy patient, and Madara proves to be a bit of a stalker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most people aren't this noisy when in pain. This woman isn't exactly faking it, but she's definitely screaming far more than she needs to... and she knows it.

If there’s one thing that Tobirama never counted on, about becoming a healer, it’s how he sometimes needs to gird his ears. The patient is screaming. Their daughter is screaming. At this point, _he_ wants to scream and say “fuck this, fuck you, fuck everything, why am I helping you?” 

Instead, he tries to brace the screaming woman and her leg at the same time. It’s really too bad that the clone technique that he had been working on isn’t stable yet, because he could use another set of hands right about now. The daughter is both too young, and too distraught to be useful. 

“Go bring your mother some water, would you?” he asks, nudging her. A distraction might be helpful right now. And if he’s lucky, that chakra he senses wandering his way actually _is_ coming his way. Even if he still doesn’t know what to make of Madara, he wouldn’t say no to his help. 

The woman screams again - she doesn’t want water, she doesn’t want him to fuck up her leg, she just wants him to make the pain stop... and he’s tried that, but there’s something unusual in her brain, and the usual tricks to stop pain with chakra aren’t working. And he isn’t carrying the right kinds of potions for it, assuming they would work where chakra fails. 

“It’s just a break. If you would hold still, maybe I could fix it!” He’s tempted to just knock her out, but her spawn will just start screaming again. 

She does stop screaming, just long enough to inform him, “The last time I held still, you jerked on my _leg_!” 

“I have to set it before I can heal it!” 

“You’re a ninja! Don’t you have magic for that?!” 

He would like her, if she wasn’t so frustrating. “I still have to set it first!” 

“But don’t you have magic to set it?” 

“No. I do not. Now hold still and let me..!” He winces as she starts screaming again, and that’s when Madara arrives. At first, he seems ready for a fight, then he actually looks at what’s happening, and wavers in the doorway. “Stop gawking! If you came to see me, then the least you can do is lend me a hand and _hold her still_ while I set her leg!” 

Madara gingerly steps around him, and wordlessly braces the woman, not even blinking when she jabs him in the kidney with her elbow. Tobirama wastes no time twisting the bones back into place, and her shrieks reach an entirely new pitch, before dying down to a whimper. 

“You cocksucking son of a bitch,” the woman groans, but let out a sigh of relief when Tobirama finally is able to use the iryo-chakra that he couldn’t before. It soothes the pain without affecting the brain. 

Incongruously, Madara starts laughing, just as the woman’s young daughter comes dashing back with a cup full of water and tears in her eyes. Instead of handing the cup over to anyone, the girl chucks it at Madara’s head with both a good arm, and good aim. He catches it, only to have the water slosh out onto him. 

Tobirama bites his lip against his own laughter, and the woman makes a rude gesture at him. “Feeling better?” he asks, tone bright. There’s no real reason to hide his mirth. 

“Yes,” she grunts, grudging. To Madara, “Who the fuck are you?” 

Madara shrugs. “Not here for you.” 

That breaks Tobirama’s resolve to not laugh, even as the little girl stomps over to kick Madara. 

A short time later, the woman is walking around her small kitchen, repeatedly testing her leg while sharing a small bottle of shochu with both Tobirama and Madara. She takes Madara’s presence gracefully, not bothering to ask a second time who he is - the assumption Tobirama reads on her is that Madara is his assistant, and was _late_. 

Tobirama decides not to tell her that he hadn’t been expecting Madara at all until he sensed his chakra heading their way. And even then, he hadn’t been _certain._

Perhaps he should have been. Madara had been so very reluctant to let him leave, not two months ago. Yet, he hadn’t tried to force the issue, and Tobirama is grateful for that. It means that he can look at people he once thought the greatest of his enemies, and see only fresh faces. 

It doesn’t matter that that young Nara had nearly killed him, two years ago. He still deserved to be helped. Same with the Inuzuka whose dog had an arrow in its shoulder. They were enemies once, but it doesn’t matter. Madara helped remind him that even those who were his enemies are still people. 

He hasn’t had to deal with the Hagoromo, though, and he doesn’t know how he’ll react when he does. Perhaps he’ll judge it on a case by case basis. Surely the entire clan didn’t know they were poisoning the brother of their allies’ clan head. If they seem honorable, and don’t try to force his hand... 

Well, he’ll see if it ever happens. 

The civilian woman, and her daughter - still glaring daggers at Madara - are hospitable, and feed them until they can’t eat any more, and then they insist he takes more for the road. Which is just as well. Fresh food tastes the best. 

Once the child seems to finally be accepting Madara’s presence - only after he compliments her aim, and tells her that she has an excellent throwing arm - Tobirama asks the woman if he can scan her brain. “Nothing invasive, I just want to see why you weren’t reacting to my attempts to dampen the pain.” 

She fidgets for a moment, avoiding looking at him. “How... how does that work?” 

Tobirama grimaces, picking idly at the remains of his meal. That is difficult enough to explain to someone with iryo-nin training. “I don’t know how to explain in a way that will be easily understood, but it comes down to this: With chakra, I can observe how the energy in your body moves, and see where it moves differently from the people I’ve worked with in the past.” 

After some thought, she consents, and asks what he needs her to do. All he needs is for her to remain mostly still for a time, but she can do things like mending in the meantime, so long as he can keep his fingers on her head. For most things, he could touch anywhere, but what he’s trying to observe is both complicated and infinitesimally small. It’s best to hold his chakra as close to the issue as possible. 

(In the background, he can hear Madara teaching the little girl how to properly throw a knife, and giving her a lecture on self-defence that Tobirama deeply appreciates. These two live alone, and the nearest village is several miles away. He hopes that the girl will never need the knowledge Madara is giving to her, but he knows people far too well.) 

Tobirama lucks out, strangely, when his patient stabs herself with a needle while mending, and swears. The tiny bits of energy in the brain move, but they move _wrong_ , and it’s fascinating. “That’s what you were waiting for, wasn’t it?” she asks, as he draws his hand away. 

He smiles, humming an acknowledgement. “It certainly gave me the information that I was looking for,” he agrees, and turns just in time to see a knife hit a target Madara had set up on the wall. He blinks for a moment, wondering just how old the child _is_. Because it seems that Madara is right about her having talent. 

The target is roughly human shaped, and if it were an actual person, the knife would have struck an artery. Thankfully, Madara is explaining that to the girl as well, and telling her to never actually throw a knife at someone unless she means to harm or kill. Because that kind of damage is not something even a ninja would be walking away from. 

As he gears up to leave - it’s still early in the day, and he had been heading toward town when he heard the shrieking - he spots the woman hefting a knife as well, and eying the target on the wall. “Practice every day,” he tells her, “if you want to be able to defend yourself with it. Children learn faster than adults, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t do it too.” 

Although he wonders why the two live alone, he doesn’t intend to ask. Some things are best left unquestioned, and a woman living alone with her daughter? That’s one of those things. 

Unsurprisingly, when he leaves, Madara follows, though the man pauses long enough to ruffle the child’s hair and give her a few kunai and shuriken - with a warning that she should be very careful, practicing with the later. Tobirama is already on the road before Madara catches up to him, falling into step like they walk together all the time. 

“That was kind of you,” Tobirama comments. He doesn’t look at Madara when he speaks. Just... ponders what that means. A kind shinobi seems like a contradiction to him. 

“Kind?” Madara asks, sounding uncomfortable. When Tobirama glances to the side, all he can see is Madara’s hair, obscuring his face. “I just... They’re the only people for miles. It. I think that they should at least be given a chance to defend themselves.” 

“That’s kind,” Tobirama replies, rolling his eyes. “Doing nothing is apathy. Shinobi are usually..." He sighs. It’s more than possible that his views of what shinobi are has been tainted by the life he has lived, but... It’s the only way he knows shinobi to be. “Shinobi endure, and forget that normal people aren’t made the same way.” 

Civilians aren’t taught to kill as children. They aren’t taught that their lives are only meaningful through death - the death they deal in, the death the eventually fall to. Civilians... Sometimes Tobirama wonders what his life would have been like, had he been born civilian. Short, probably, given the myriad problems that plagued his childhood. But without those... would he have become a farmer, like his uncles on his mother’s side? 

Madara remains silent, until they have almost reached the town. Walking at a civilian’s pace, that takes a while. “You expect apathy, just because I’m a shinobi?” 

“I expect apathy because I _was_ a shinobi,” Tobirama corrects. He can’t count the number of times he has had to turn his face away from those in need. To look up and away, because if you make eye contact, you give someone hope that will only be dashed. The reply seems to trouble Madara, but... Tobirama doesn’t have to lie anymore. He _won’t_ lie unless he must, and he _doesn’t have to_. 

The village, when they reach it, is nicer than Tobirama expected, and Madara ends up nudging him toward a bakery rather than what Tobirama suspected to be an inn - the destination Tobirama intended. 

Bemused, Tobirama lets himself be directed. He also lets Madara buy him sakura dorayaki, even if he’s not sure _why_ Madara’s doing it. Perhaps Madara thinks he should already be hungry again, which is vaguely annoying. He’s seventeen, almost eighteen, but that doesn’t mean he processes food at such a rate! 

The dorayaki is tasty, however, even if it isn’t as good as his mother’s - who he can’t afford to think about right now. If he thinks too deeply on it, he’ll get upset, and he doesn’t want Madara to see that. The scent and taste of castella cake, anko and sakura leaves and petals make his heart ache anyway, and he finds himself eating more and more slowly, if only to control his emotions. 

Madara has to be one of the most naturally empathic people Tobirama has ever met, because the man just sits with him, close enough that Tobirama can imagine the feeling of Madara’s shoulder bumping into his own, but not saying anything. Somehow, that just makes the ache worse, and Tobirama soon finds his eyes burning, and he gnaws at his lip between bites to keep his silence. 

When was the last time someone had just sat with him like this? It had to have been long before he left home. 

Forcing his voice to respond through the thickness of his throat, Tobirama says, “You can’t have come out here just to... what, talk to me? Follow me around for a while? I’m sure you have better things to do.” 

Madara shrugs, and Tobirama can feel the motion as their shoulders brush together. “I like talking to you.” 

Although Madara doesn’t move more, Tobirama has the distinct impression that he’s _squirming_. It’s an effective distraction. “So you came all the way out here, to the edge of Kaze no Kuni, to _talk to me_?” 

“I was in the area,” Madara defends himself, and Tobirama could almost laugh. Because no, Madara hadn’t been in the area at all. He pays attention to any strong chakra in his range, and Madara... is usually in his range. While he never knows what Madara is _doing_ , he certainly knows where he is. And he had been a significant distance from Tobirama when he turned around and made a beeline almost straight for him. 

“Were you?” He finishes the dorayaki, and drops his face into one of his hands, shoulders shaking slightly with repressed laughter. “I’m a sensor, Madara, and your chakra is quite unique.” Tobirama isn’t sure how well known his range had been, before he left the Senju. He isn’t even sure how well known it was that he’s a sensor, so he isn’t about to give details about the ability. Besides, sensors aren’t unusual, even if his range is unprecedented. “Yeah, so? I was up in..." Madara pauses and waves in the general direction he had come from. “And I heard someone mention you were in the area. So I thought I’d... drop by.” His shoulders hunch slightly, like he isn’t proud of it.

The idea that someone would seek his company is baffling, but... It’s also pleasing, in a strange way. As for it being _Madara_ of all people... That, Tobirama still isn’t sure what to think of. “Alright then. I’m sure you have... things that you have to do. How long do you plan on staying?” 

Madara catches himself, and Tobirama is absolutely certain that what he says is not the same as what wants to come out. “For... a little while, anyway. As long as I’m not in the way.” 

Madara is in the way, but not in the way that he means. Tobirama wants to go about what has become his usual routine upon entering towns, but with Madara here, it feels like everything has turned sideways. “If you can make certain that the locals don’t find you overly intimidating, I think it will be fine..." 

* * *

Madara’s heart soars and drops by turns. Shiro didn’t chase him off, and he even accepted Madara buying him sweets. He let Madara help, and... Madara can see how little trust Shiro has in people. It hurts to wonder why.

He already knew that Shiro had once been a shinobi. For all his youth, his hands are scarred in a way that only shinobi’s are. There are other tells, too. Chakra usage tends to be used by three types of people: samurai, shinobi, and religious sects. The way Shiro uses it is distinct to the way shinobi in general do, though it doesn’t seem to match up to any particular clan styles Madara knows of. And while he’s known iryo-nin, his own clan is lucky to have the number they do. The usage of iryo-chakra isn’t common at all, and even Madara doesn’t know any healing techniques beyond basic, chakra-less first aid.

If he thought it wouldn’t make Shiro shut down on him, Madara would ask him about his training, because Shiro’s technique is far beyond any of the iryo-nin he knows. He’s probably a godsend in little civilian towns like the one Madara just left behind. Places like that are lucky if they see a healer of any stripe more than twice a year. 

Even a bonecutter, which Madara shudders at the thought of. 

Having been lucky enough to grow up with iryo-nin, who, even self-taught, far outstrip most civilian physicians, he’s low key terrified of the idea of ending up in the hands of a civilian healer. They have... strange ideas of what constitutes healing, many of which defy logic. 

At the same time, civilians are often afraid of shinobi, even their healers. So the fact that they seem to flock to Shiro is... It’s amazing. Watching him work is something else entirely, but Madara had grown used to that when Shiro was staying with his clan. He still laughs whenever he thinks of Hikaku’s painful encounter. 

He has more sober thoughts to follow up on, when he reaches home, however, and corners Izuna as soon as he can. “What can you tell me about Shiro’s family?” 

Izuna’s eyes flare comically wide - as only an Uchiha can manage - and he chokes on a pickle. After much hacking, and assistance in the form of getting whacked vigorously between the shoulderblades, he complains, “Why would you even ask me that?” 

Madara pouts. “You’re the one who _knows_ him. That’s why.” 

Rolling his shoulders, which probably sting, if Izuna’s nerves are acting right, Izuna takes a moment to flip him off. “Yeah, but there’s this thing called privacy.” Izuna’s eyes briefly light on Madara’s face, only to flicker away, determinedly. “He has family. From what I get, at least one of them is a, a fucking rag dinghy. Ugh. A really shitty person. And also from what I get, they’re pretty much the head of the family. And Shiro would never tell you any of this. He didn’t tell me this. I just... I figured it out because we got stuck in a shitty situation together and ended up talking, and... he talks around his issues with his... this person.” 

Madara drops to sit next to his brother, casually stealing the half eaten bowl of rice from him. “He... doesn’t think shinobi can be kind. It isn’t what he said, but..." And fuck, that bothers him. “He said he thinks that way because he was one.” 

Izuna steals the rice back. “Get your own, idiot brother.” 

“Oi, that’s uncalled for! One, I already have an idiot brother.” In retaliation, Madara steals a pickle right out of the bowl. “Two, as my idiot brother, you should be nice, and share!” 

“Oh, I’ll share alright,” Izuna growls, when he’s too late to get his pickle back. “I’ll share with kaachan, all about your little crush, and the fact that you’re stealing my lunch! Get your own lunch!” 

Unthinking, Madara takes the bowl again, ignoring Izuna’s squawking. “I’m asking for a serious opinion!” He manages a couple bites, lifted right out with his fingers, before it gets snatched back out of his hand. “Hey!” 

“And I don’t have one! Obviously, if he felt that way, being a shinobi wasn’t good for him. I’m glad he’s doing his own thing now.” Izuna makes a concerted effort to finish his rice, scowling at Madara around each mouthful, and occasionally pausing to make rude gestures. “Fucking... stealing my food. I worked hard... for this!” 

Madara arches his eyebrows. “Really? Did you cook it yourself? Or did someone else cook it, and fill your bowl while you made pathetic faces at them?” He suspects Hana, because Hana is an easy target, and Izuna has been unapologetically taking advantage of his presumed frailty. He hasn’t fainted in over a month, so Madara highly doubts Izuna is as pathetic as those faces make him seem. 

“Acting is work,” Izuna shrugs, hunches forward over his food. “I can’t make rice. It burns. Which is stupid, because all this water goes in... Stop laughing. I still haven’t figured out how you manage it.” 

“You don’t use nearly enough water, little brother.” That isn’t the only issue, but Madara suspects that it doesn’t matter. Izuna is adamant at refusing to learn how to cook. It’s only by the benevolence of the rest of the clan that he doesn’t starve. 

He’s distracted from his worries by this idiocy, and the fact that now he has to seek out his own meal because his little brother doesn’t like to share. That isn’t to say that he doesn’t recall those worries later, but it isn’t something he can do anything about. 

While Madara didn’t learn a lot from Shiro himself about his past - nor was Izuna the help Madara had hoped for - what he did learn put some of his encounters with the healer into a different perspective. However his clan had treated him, Shiro is not used to the idea of basic kindness. Not from shinobi. And as a shinobi, he probably isn’t used to seeing it from civilians, either. 

It only makes what the man is doing all the more admirable, Madara thinks, late that night, in a dusty office that he never has time to clean. It’s a space that’s for the clan head only, and as such, only he is available to clean it. Unfortunately, it never happens, because if he’s in here, he’s busy with confidential missives and things that he can’t delegate to Hikaku and Izuna. 

One of the notes is a coded message from his mother. Once he figures out her increasingly bizarre coding, he sits back to read. 

There’s a line up of childish doodles in the margins, and if he weren’t so familiar with her idea of art, he wouldn’t be able to tell the bears from the bunnies from the badgers. The tanuki he only guesses because she drew a big hangy thing between its legs. And while he knows what it’s meant to be, it doesn’t really look right at all. 

Still, it would be exceedingly difficult to read for anyone who doesn’t know her well. Which, he realizes, after working a ways through, is a very, very good thing. He doesn’t trust all of his people, the elders especially. Certain ones will browbeat and bribe the messengers, and then read his correspondence before he has a chance to. 

Without knowing her well, they wouldn’t be able to read enough to cause a stir in the clan. Given the daimyo’s increasingly worse treatment of the shinobi clans, Madara has to wonder just what the man is thinking. Banishing his heir like that... And, it seems, enacting stricter laws governing how the clans are allowed to work. 

Like he’s made it easy for them to begin with. Madara’s clan is lucky. They’re one of the largest of the major clans. That’s afforded them some protection, where the law wouldn’t. But as things are heading, it’s only going to get worse. It’s like Daimyo Hanshin is trying to kill them off, the slow and painful way. 

Madara sets the missive down, and rubs his face with his palms. As much as he would rather spend the evening thinking about his crush, he has damage control to enact. 

* * *

Hashirama and Madara can’t meet often. Until they get their clans to admit that it might not be a bad idea to be allies, that’s just the way it has to be. Meetings tend to be as clandestine as they can manage - unfortunately they are both rather unforgettable people, and Madara’s not about to cut his hair just to talk to his idiot friend. The less said about how Hashirama stands out, the better. 

He finds Hashirama in a gloomy corner of a tea shop, staring morosely into a cup of tea. Madara wishes that that was a surprise, but it really isn’t. He settles across from Hashirama with a huff, weighing the benefits of letting Hashirama decide to talk in his own time. 

Time being as it is, Madara suspects that they don’t have enough of it. “Want to get it off your chest before we move on to something serious?” 

When Hashirama’s head lifts, his eyes are actually reddened, and... It looks far more serious than usual. Madara isn’t about to take his words back, though. “I... I fucked up,” Hashirama said, voice a broken whisper. “Tobirama always warned me about my temper. He always. He always stopped me. I just... I wish I knew then, before he left, just how much he did for us.” 

This wasn’t entirely about Tobirama, Madara’s sure. Every time they see each other, the grey haired imp with the far too large katana always comes up, but usually, it’s Hashirama begging Madara for any information he may have found. Admittedly, Madara hasn’t exactly been looking. If he ever finds Tobirama, he highly suspects that he’ll find a corpse. “Yeah?” 

“They... Fuck, it’s been a year now,” Hashirama says, finally sitting upright. “Mito’s... she’s getting better. We think. But. That idiot wanted me to... to put her aside, just because the poison might have made her infertile.” 

The incident Hashirama speaks of, where Mito was injured, happened not long after Tobirama’s disappearance. “Dumb enough not to realize what kind of position that would put you in with your allies?” 

Hashirama made a sound of agreement. “I. I wouldn’t normally have. But. We were just talking about Tobirama. They want me to put a bounty on my own brother! Then when I told him the subject was closed, he started in on Mito!” 

It’s with a sinking feeling that Madara realizes where this is going. 

“I killed one of my own elders, and I... I want to say I didn’t mean to.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Names:
> 
> Hanshin: 範 (han) meaning "to control" combined with 真 (shin) meaning "true, reality", or, as I like to read it “to control the truth/reality.” This is the current daimyo.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s not a quest,” protests the man on a quest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little on the shorter side, but I’ve literally slept most of the week. Rec-verse may suffer similarly.

Even through the seal, there’s no mistaking Hashirama’s chakra. With the way his heart pounds, Tobirama knows that he is in no way ready to go home. The pounding of his heart only exacerbates the pounding in his head, which makes his current job all the more fun. 

The prostitutes wouldn’t be so bad if they weren’t such a loud, cackling bunch. Their madame is a cheerful, lenient woman, and her girls are some of the happiest prostitutes he’s had the chance to meet. They also happen to be utterly ridden with lover’s complaints, but he suspects that any prostitute in the city would be. 

They are also quite handsy, and say things that would have his ears burning if he hadn’t already been done with embarrassment over an hour ago. More than one giggled at the soft hairs on his cheeks, and how it would feel if he... And he’s not going there, or else he’ll prove that he isn’t quite over his embarrassment. 

It isn’t the best time for a migraine, but really, when is? 

Nearing midday, he can sense Madara’s chakra joining Hashirama, and his stomach decides that it’s going to join his brain in complaining. There’s no reason for him to find this stressful. No reason that he should think that they might be talking about _him_. 

More likely, they’re talking about some of the more interesting rumors that Tobirama is hearing lately. _Servants talk_ , and nobles, especially high ranking ones, forget that their servants are people. The poor are often well informed, due to this, and Tobirama keeps his ears open. 

Then again, they could be discussing the subject of the latest rumors from the Senju compound. It took effort to hear about that, and when he did... _’Oh, anija...'_ Sure, most of the elders were bags of hot air, but... Tobirama can’t imagine this working well for Hashirama. _’I always did warn you about your temper.’_

* * *

Come evening, Tobirama is settling into a decently clean room, provided by the madame, after having a truly sumptuous dinner with her. She spent the meal trying to sweet talk him into sticking around - having a healer available when customers treat the girls poorly could only be a good thing. He suggests that she hire some retired shinobi to keep an eye on such things, and pretend that they do other jobs for her. There’s also no saying she couldn’t find an iryo-nin the same way. The suggestion hits home, and she allows him to retire for the evening in peace. 

It comes as a surprise when Madara’s chakra turns his way, picking through the city in a pattern that suggests that he took to the urban rooftops. With Hashirama to hold his attention, Tobirama didn’t expect that Madara would even notice his presence. The chakra bristles irritably, at first, and then loses the calm it managed upon reaching the building Tobirama is staying in. 

Tobirama muffles a laugh against his arm. He can just imagine Madara’s incensed face. 

In spite of his agitation, Madara still comes inside, only to be stopped by what feels like every single one of the brothel’s girls on his way to Tobirama’s room. Some of the girls feel... It’s strange to think that they might be threatening Madara, but that’s what their chakras suggest. Others feel stern, where yet others have a lewdly cheerful vibe, and Tobirama hopes to never find out what those ones are telling Madara. 

By the time Madara reaches him, even Tobirama can see how vividly red his face is, no matter how he tries to hid it behind his hair. The Uchiha stands in the door, bewildered and embarrassed, and doesn’t seem inclined to speak. Or rather, he seems perfectly inclined, yet unable to form words. 

Tobirama would take pity, but he has no idea what he’s supposed to say. The busy work he found for his hands suddenly feels like it needs his full attention... He probably shouldn’t let his mind wander when repairing his gear anyway. 

It seems neither of them are very capable at this ‘social’ thing, and it takes a ridiculous amount of time for Madara to recover enough to speak. “You. They... fuck. What are you even..? Prostitutes?!” Madara slapped his own face, groaning. “Geez, I just offended myself. I have nothing against prostitutes, except ones who say horrible things to me when I just... gah. Help?” 

Tobirama sighs, though deep down, he’s quite entertained. “If you’re asking me to help you learn how to think before you speak, what I know of medicine is not capable of that. The one I learned from often told me that you can’t cure fools, only educate them.” Madara slumps, gaping at him, and Tobirama finds himself sighing again. “You seem to be laboring under the misconception that _I’m nice_. I’m really not.” 

“No, you are,” Madara tells him. 

“I just said..!” 

“No, you warned me. That’s... That’s a lot nicer than you could be.” 

Tobirama wants to argue that, but Madara has a point. So he concedes with a scowl. “As long as you don’t expect me to be nice,” he says. “What brought you here this time?” 

This time, when Madara slumps, it’s like the energy just drained out of him. “Ah. I had to come out this way to meet up with someone. It’s been... Not a great day. And... I swear, this time I really was just in the general area, so I thought..." 

_’He thought to come see me, for some bizarre reason,’_ Tobirama surmises. _’And then I was an ass to him.’_ Not that he feels like he owes Madara anything, but it’s obvious even to him that Madara’s had a rough day. “Come, sit down. I don’t have much here, but if you’d like some of the fruit the madame provided, I’m willing to share.” 

He doesn't have to see clearly to be able to tell that Madara was starting to smile again. “See? Nice.” 

Tobirama doesn’t really understand why Madara bothered to seek him out, especially with Hashirama nearby. He’s never been _fun_ , or pleasant - perhaps a better word than ‘nice,’ for when he’s trying to explain what he _isn’t_. Even Touka always accused him of having a sour disposition. 

There isn’t much to like. Being hardworking, intelligent, fierce and loyal - though he can’t claim ‘loyal’ anymore, can he? - aren’t likeable traits. He’s useful, but... Yet Madara sought him out, just to spend time with him. In spite of his sharp tongue, his lack of manners. 

He doesn’t actually want to like Madara, but there’s something charming about his earnestness. It feels more natural than when Hashirama does the same, and he wants to believe... that little promise Madara made, not long before he left the Uchiha. Gods, he wants to believe that someone could make a promise like that to _him_ and _mean it_. 

That’s not something he’s willing to talk about, and in lieu of having another topic at hand, he finds himself grasping at what little he knows they have in common: Izuna’s health. It’s a topic Madara’s glad to jump on - apparently he was floundering as well - and Tobirama learns more about Izuna’s recovery than he expected Madara would share. 

He can also reassure Madara that Izuna’s surliness about being on light duty is probably just his character - and Madara should damn well know that, because he’s probably had to see it before. They end up bickering good naturedly for most of Madara’s visit, and he can sense genuine regret when Madara tells him he has to head back now. 

He finds... that he regrets Madara leaving as well, and doesn’t know how to feel about that. 

(There are very few people in his life that he’s ever missed.) 

* * *

For once, Madara wasn’t the one who sought out Shiro. It was the Inuzuka with which he occasionally worked. They were following a trail of evidence, and it stops at... Shiro. Who has his arm. Up a cow. Madara’s fairly certain that Shiro _is not_ the evidence that they’re after. He also kind of wants to scream, because _why_ does he have his arm up a cow?! 

On the other end of the cow is a man holding a harness, and rubbing the obviously distressed beast’s jaw. Madara can’t quite do anything but gape, and it seems that Kouga feels the same. Because _why_ up a cow? 

The dog steps forward and woofs at Shiro, who scowls irritably back. “What does it look like I’m doing? If you aren’t going to help, go gawp at someone else!” 

They’re absolutely here for a reason, but Madara doesn’t know if he can actually talk to Shiro while his crush has an arm _up a cow_. When Madara makes a distressed noise, Kouga takes one glance at him and sighs dramatically. “Okay. We’re here for a reason, and... I don’t think we’ll be able to actually... Okay. Why are you..?” Kouga gestures at Shiro, and then at the cow. “This isn’t what we were expecting, when we came here.” 

Sarcasm drips so thickly from Shiro’s tone that it’s almost a surprise that it isn’t visible. “Oh, I just stroll around the countryside, casually shoving my arm up unsuspecting cows’ hoo-has. Everyone needs a hobby.” 

Madara groans, hiding his face in his hands. Why does he like this guy? Who the hell goes around shoving their arm up a cow? “But _why_?” 

Shiro snorts. “Because the calf is backwards, and I’m not just going to let it die? Madara. Come here and take the end of this rope. And pull when I tell you to.” 

For the first time, Madara notices the rope that seems to be going in right alongside Shiro’s arm. He also suddenly realizes that Shiro’s stripped down to no more than his pants, which hang loosely on his hips. (And his eyes very much want to look him up and down, but Shiro’s _arm_ is still inside the _cow_!) “Why do you want me to..?” 

“Because it’ll be easier between the two of us. And you can consider it partial payment for whatever it is you’ve come for.” 

Madara lets Kouga explain the string of clues that has led them here, taking the - thankfully dry - rope in his hands. Shiro listens, as does the farmer, and draws his own conclusions. Kouga’s explanation is pretty clear, and Madara doesn’t immediately realize why Shiro’s struggling to keep a straight face. 

“So. You’re trying to find smugglers, who have the information you need, to get to a key of some sort, that will let you in through the wards on the... castle, where the... young, female, kidnapee you’re seeking to rescue is being held.” Shiro’s shoulders shake visibly, and Madara sees the way he’s biting back a grin - and that fact that he can do that, with his arm where it is, is just. Wow. The laughter he’s holding back spills out, just before the words, “You’re on a quest!” 

“Samurai do quests,” Madara protests. “Nobles, sometimes. Even young idiot farmers’ sons - no offence.” The farmer waves off the unintended insult. “Shinobi do _clean up_.” 

Kouga coughs. “Except for once, someone was smart enough to hire us from the start.” 

“Quest,” Shiro states, and actually lets the grin come out. “And you’re here because... your dog led you to _us_. Jisan, just how shady was your uncle?” 

The segue was confusing until the farmer started talking. “Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was involved with those smugglers of yours. And... What do you say, Shiro-sensei? You think there’s anything in there besides the calf?" 

Shiro turns that sly grin on Madara, and Madara quails inside, because he has suspicions about what’s coming next. “I don’t know. How about you give that rope a pull, and we’ll find out if anything comes out with the calf.” With a wet sound that’s going to _haunt_ Madara, Shiro pulls his arm loose, and again prompts Madara to pull. 

Five minute later, Madara is wheezing, with his hands on his knees, because gods that was disgusting and he never wants to be part of another birth _ever again_. The fact that the cow has turned around and is _licking him_ in between bouts of licking her calf does _not_ make anything better, and Madara’s going to strangle Kouga if he keeps laughing. 

Gods this is so gross. “Did anything come out?” he asks, a little strangled and far higher pitch than usual. 

“Placenta, more placenta, afterbirth,” says Shiro, tone cheery. “Nothing interesting yet, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

Kouga is still laughing at him, and Madara will absolutely get his revenge. “I meant smuggling related stuff, thank you and that’s horrible. And will someone make this cow stop licking me! _I’m not your calf_!” 

“Just walk away from her, and she’ll focus on the calf,” the farmer suggests, easily as amused as Shiro and Kouga, just more quiet about it. 

“Why did you need a healer for your cow anyway?” Madara asks, trying to step away from the cow. She follows for a short distance, but then does what the farmer said she would, and returns to tending her calf. 

“First cow. Haven’t had anything bigger than a goat before,” the man says, shrugging. “I inherited her and she was already pregnant, so I thought, hell, I’ll expand. Had a feeling that something was gonna go wrong, so I asked Shiro-sensei if he’d be willing to stick around a few days until the birth. And what do you know, something _was_ wrong.” 

“Well.” There’s a surprised lilt in Shiro’s voice, and the man leans down and reaches right into the afterbirth still being expelled, and picks up something that doesn’t belong - a dark, oblong shape that looks a lot like wet leather. He tosses it to Kouga, who lets out a disgusted yelp when he catches it. “I believe this is your clue.” Then he turns back to the cow, a concerned furrow on his brow. “I don’t think the afterbirth should be coming out so fast," he murmurs and places his hands, limned green with iryo-chakra, on the cows side. 

Madara has to shake away the distraction - Shiro’s face is so serious, so concerned, and it’s just a _cow_. How can he say he isn’t a nice person? “Do you need anything else?” he asks, because Shiro was a great help. The locals are rarely so accommodating. 

“I want your Inuzuka to tell me if he smells any sign of infection on that bundle,” Shiro says, and Kouga coughs, but sniffs warily anyway. “And, when you get a chance... I’d like a pair of shoulder length, oilskin gloves.” 

That’s... no, that’s completely fair, given what Shiro just had to do. “I don’t smell anything but blood and cow placenta,” says Kouga, still holding the bundle as though it’s going to bite. Madara doesn’t get what his issue is. He’s already touched it. Touching it more, with hands that are already gross, isn’t going to make him more dirty. 

“Good.” Shiro then waves them off, too busy to actually bid them goodbye - though he does glance over his shoulder at Madara, just before they leave, and nod. It... doesn’t seem like it should be so much, but it feels like... It feels like a gesture of respect. 

Even though he still wants to dunk himself in the nearest river, Madara can’t help but feel like he’s riding an emotional high after that. 

* * *

As a healer, Tobirama has discovered many things about life that he wouldn’t have thought of before. Such as, by merely being an enemy shinobi, he actually needed to spare _less_ attention to his surroundings. As a healer, on the other hand, he constantly needs to be aware of his surroundings, because, it seems, almost every damned shinobi he runs into wants to recruit him for their clan. 

By force, if he’s unwilling to be talked into it. As such, he’s _always_ aware of when Madara is in the vicinity, and is completely unsurprised that the man is heading his way again. 

“Congratulations,” he tells the shinobi - mostly aiming the comment at Madara - when they reach him. There’s no reason to bother looking up from what he’s doing - inspecting the gear that he’s taken from the body nearby, and seeing if anything will be useful for him, specifically. 

He can feel their disbelief and confusion, but Madara’s the one who asks, “Why... are you congratulating us?” 

“Well. For once, you haven’t come upon me doing anything questionable, or outright disgusting,” he replies. 

The Inuzuka coughs. “I don’t know about that. You kinda look like you just looted a dead shinobi.” 

Tobirama thinks about it, and concedes. “Point. To be fair, though, I always warn them that I will fight back. And there’s no use leaving good gear with a corpse.” Most of the gear is salvageable, though he wonders what he’s going to do with some of the items. Barter, perhaps. 

“Ehr.” There’s a sound of shuffling, and Madara moves to crouch at eye level with him. “We ran into a... uh. Hiccup. We have a recipe for a potion, and... A lot of the ingredients are... unfamiliar. I was hoping you might know if there’s an apothecary nearby.” 

Tobirama blinks at him. “Still the quest?” 

“...please don’t call it that. It’s a _mission_. And... yeah, we’re still on the same thing. Just. Please answer.” Madara’s close enough that his discomfort is visible, and... It’s stupid that Tobirama finds it... cute. 

He allows some of his disbelief to show on his face. “You may as well show me your recipe. Why do you need this potion again?” 

Madara lets out a long suffering sigh. “Because we need it to get to the fucker who has the key.” He scowls when Tobirama arches an eyebrow at him. “It’s not a quest! Just because it keeps getting stupidly complicated doesn’t mean it isn’t a _mission_.” Behind him, the Inuzuka snorts. “We’re getting paid well for this. Quests are some stupid noble crap that _shinobi_ don’t get involved in.” 

“Mmhmm, keep telling yourself that,” Tobirama mocks. 

To his amusement, Madara scowls, and mutters, “I will.” 

“Are any of the three of you even capable of basic alchemy?” Tobirama asks, when Madara finally hands over the scroll with the recipe. Now, Madara _pouts_ , and Tobirama glances away as soon as he notices. Hormones are such a pain. 

“I’m pretty good,” Madara says, and yelps when the Inuzuka elbows him. 

“Madara experiments,” the Inuzuka cuts in. “Which. No. Not when we need something specific. I can at least follow a basic recipe, but... Mizumaru is better than I am. Or he would be if he had hands.” Mildly incredulous, Tobirama fights against the urge to laugh in their faces. It’s probably not a good sign that the dog is probably the best alchemist in the lot. 

He skims the list, and there’s nothing on it which he hasn’t picked up from the locals, though he’s never seen a mixture quite like this. A quick perusal of the instructions tells him that it is well within his abilities, as well. “Bring me the ingredients you know, and I’ll make it. Since it isn’t _healing_ , however, you’re going to owe me, again.” He swore to _heal_ any who asked, not make potions for random quests. _That_ , he won’t do for free. 

There’s some regret that he set them on a task that means that they will _keep coming back_. As if Madara isn’t... Madara is terribly distracting, and Tobirama doesn’t need that kind of complication in his life. Madara is awkward, and earnest, and he’s the most stable thing in Tobirama’s life, with the way he _keeps coming back_. 

Hormones hardly need to be added to the mix. He doesn’t need to think about _any_ of this. He doesn’t want to think about the fact that when Madara came back with an armload of local mushrooms, and he leaned into Tobirama’s space, Tobirama could smell him. He felt Madara’s hair tickling his hands when he reached out to check the mushrooms for himself. 

If it weren’t for the way Madara _acts_ with him, he could dismiss those feelings without much thought. But Madara is... Frustrating, he decides, when Madara interrupts him yet again with a load of botanical ingredients. 

He’s already looking forward to sending them on their way again - this time, with the request for a small storage container, built to certain specifications. 

* * *

For once, the teasing is perfectly acceptable, because Madara is _giddy_ at what Kouga is implying. Getting teased about his crush on the healer was fine. Madara had been putting up with that for the better part of a week. Getting teased that his crush was showing signs of liking him back? 

Gods, of course he’s giddy. Even if it’s just hormones, Madara will take it, happily. “You are the absolute worst to be around when you have the hots for someone,” Kouga mutters, but Madara doesn’t care. Not when _Shiro might like him_! 

It’s hard to be properly menacing when he feels like this, but somehow, they get their damned key anyway. No matter what Kouga says - even if, by the sound of Mizumaru’s “wuff,” the dog agrees - he isn’t _floating_. He’s just. Happy. He can be in a good mood without it being the end of the world. 

He wonders how hard it would be to get a kiss, and actually has to be dragged along for a moment, because the fantasy of it distracts him so much. “Why are you like this?” Kouga groans, and Madara ignores him, sweeping ahead to unlock the warded all to hell door. They wouldn’t have needed the damned key if it weren’t for this part. 

They’re ninja, and good ones, at that. So it doesn’t take long for them to figure out where the lady would be held - and it would be benefiting her station, likely with its own private garden. Even Madara, as distracted as he is, can be unseen by eyes the likes of which guard this castle. 

What they find, however, isn’t the lady they’ve been looking for. Instead, the find a tired old biku, sitting in the garden, wearing a takuhatsugasa. He gives them a smile, and says, “If you’re here for the young lady, I’m afraid you’ve come too late. They’ve taken her to another castle. However, I would be most grateful if you helped me escape as well.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Names:
> 
> Kouga: “Steel fang” (“鋼牙” - I had to look this up for my other fic. The characters on their own are pronounced hogane and kiba, but there’s a ton of different ways to pronounce each character.)  
> Mizumaru: “水丸”, or “water circle”
> 
> Terms:
> 
> Lover’s complaints: An older way to describe STDs.  
> Biku: Japanese version of Bhikkhu, ordained Buddhist monks.  
> Takuhatsugasa: A rounded, almost mushroom shaped grass hat worn by mendicant buddhist monks.  
> Mendicant: One who lives mostly by begging, or on the charity of others.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobirama returns to Hi no Kuni after some time away, meets new people and an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops. I went a little longer between updates of this one than I meant to. xD

Tobirama expected many things, once his reputation began to build. Somehow, being sought out by actual criminals wasn’t one of those things. Honestly, gaining a reputation was never something he expected, either. Yet here he is. With a reputation in both Hi no Kuni and now Kaze no Kuni (and that’s a reputation he’ll be glad to leave behind). 

She says that her name is Mikaze - “sacred wind,” a lovely and evocative name, he thinks, matching her blade sharp chakra, a shimmering green - dimmed by the pink haze of the seal that disguises his chakra - that calls to mind tropical wind and the strange smile she gives him. She says she’s a healer, but... she has a warrior’s chakra. She’s also, in spite of her sun kissed skin and smooth black hair, and most notably her chakra which _isn’t white_ , connected to the Hatake. 

Mikaze is quite genteel, almost painfully polite - but that smile of hers never wavers - when she asks him to come and see her clan head. “We have our ears open, and this is the first time you’ve been in the country in months. I’ve heard good things about you, and thought that it was worth checking to see if you can do something for him that I can’t.” 

Tobirama’s surprised to find that this tried his vow far harder than healing Izuna had - or any of a number of countless shinobi and civilians. The Hatake aren’t a shinobi clan. Rumor has it that they were once nobles, or samurai, or part of some kind of religious order. In recent history, however, they have been bandits, and have long troubled the Senju - as well as other shinobi clans, samurai and nobles. 

On the other hand, there is some kind of honor in them. He’s never once heard of them attacking civilians, or anyone incapable of fighting back properly. Looking at it that way, it’s easier for him to get over his issues, and bow in acquiescence. 

Mikaze notices his hesitance, but doesn’t comment - just begins describing her clan head’s problems in explicit detail. Up to the fact that his mysterious illness is caused by a curse. Which... 

“That sounds like it might be beyond my abilities,” he points out. “A priest, perhaps, would have been a better choice, if you’re to seek help.” 

“We have those,” she says dryly. “And there’s nothing they can do. It’s beyond their knowledge. And as a healer, it’s beyond my capabilities. I can see what’s wrong, but fixing it?” She tells him of the way the curse fights back, when she heals his lungs. How the flesh goes necrotic, and disturbing it makes blood well up in his lungs. Blood which, apparently, the man can’t help but swallow. And when his lungs are causing him too much trouble, he often vomits it back up. 

Oddly enough, it isn’t the grossest thing he’s heard recently. His time in Kaze no Kuni was rather unpleasant. “I can’t guarantee I’ll do even as well as you,” Tobirama admits, “but I can look, at least.” 

She seems pleased with his response, and leads him to where the Hatake have currently set up camp. 

He’s so inundated with tales of the Hatake that he honestly has no idea what to expect. While it’s clearly a nomad’s camp, it’s neat and cleanly. Far more so than most of the villages he left behind in Kaze no Kuni. 

The people are quiet and range from silvery white hair - even in children - to darker shades, all of silver, and even black. Tobirama has never, until now, actually met members of this clan, and for once, he wishes he could see more clearly. The occasional flash of bright colors isn’t enough to tell him how rich their clothing is - and that could potentially give veracity to some of the rumors he has heard. 

“Rumor has it that you’re blind,” Mikaze comments upon reaching a specific yurt. A strong chakra resides within, white stained pink in his mind’s eye, “Yet I can see the way you mark your surroundings.” 

“As good as blind,” he replies dismissively. “I can see colors, the vague impressions of shapes. But I can’t see well enough to find a brush if I drop it, if that answers the questions you so clearly have.” 

“It does,” she replies, before turning her attention to the yurt. “Fuyuhiko-sama. I’ve brought the healer Shiro back with me. May we come in?” At a soft affirmative from within, Mikaze guides Shiro inside. 

After blinking the sun dazzle from his eyes, he finds that while it’s dim inside, it isn’t as dark as he expected. There’s a man sitting upright in a pile of bedding, a lap desk across his knees. “Forgive me for not standing,” the man says, awkwardly bowing in place with a smile that feels more genuine than Mikaze’s. 

“Of course,” Tobirama replies, bowing as well. “Mikaze-san has described your illness to me. When would be a good time for me to make my own observations?” 

There’s a light cough from the man. “Now would be... fine. It hasn’t been a good day, and that’s the best time for observation, isn’t it?” 

“Fuyuhiko-sama,” Mikaze says, somehow giving off the impression of extreme disapproval, while her expression doesn’t shift. “You’re supposed to tell me when there’s a problem.” 

The Hatake head flinches, like a little boy caught with his hands in the sugar bowl, before straightening out, with a slightly louder cough. “I did. Just now. When you got back. Because it isn’t like I can tell you when you’re not here!” 

Somehow, Tobirama is reminded of Hashirama. Thankfully, it’s his brother’s better qualities that he’s being put in mind of. “If now is a good time...” Tobirama murmurs, and that stops the budding argument. He drops his pack and steps forward to begin his observations. 

* * *

Fuyuhiko is coughing so hard that he can’t remain conscious within twenty minutes of Tobirama’s first visit, but Tobirama does learn a few things. “With a healthy lung sample, I can probably clone his lungs and replace them, but at this point, that’s the only thing I _can_ do.” 

The other healer is skeptical. “Cloning?” 

“Full bodies are the problem,” he replies. “Because cloned tissue can only handle a certain amount of chakra without catastrophic collapse. As long as he isn’t breathing fire every day, and pays attention to signs that he’s straining them, cloned organs are perfectly feasible.” 

Private research during his early teens had led him to that conclusion. He kept the research private, because there is really only one reason most people are interested in clones to begin with: clone armies. And knowing the problems with clones led even shinobi healers - the few who dabble in such things - to ignore the potential benefits of cloned organs. 

Unlike full bodies, cloned organs are stable, though he had never gotten the chance for human testing - and he warns Mikaze about that. It seems to be in his best interest to be completely honest with her. “He’s dying anyway. Slowly or not, the rot in his lungs is killing him. The only solution I can see is replacing his lungs in their entirety.” 

The biggest impediment he sees is that he doesn’t have the equipment he needs to actually clone tissue - he could build it, if the parts were brought to him. And the Hatake are an excellent source for such things. They have most of what he needs in two days. 

Three more days, and he and Mikaze are preparing for the biopsy to get some of Fuyuhiko’s healthy lung tissue. There’s so very little of it left. One lung is almost completely necrotic, and the other is getting there. Tobirama isn’t sure how the man has managed to survive so long, but now that he’s working on it, he isn’t leaving it to stubbornness and luck. 

Given that the damage is curse related, this might be a mere stopgap solution, but... Mikaze watches him closely. They will be able to replace Fuyuhiko’s lungs as needed. 

The most harrowing part of the process is actually removing the old lungs and putting the new ones in. There’s a chance that Fuyuhiko’s body will reject them. There’s a chance of all sorts of problems, given that they had to open his ribcage in order to do this. For all Tobirama has done surgery before, it was never something so complicated, or dangerous for the patient. 

He’s confident, however, and Mikaze is at least as capable as him, working at his side. Together, they succeed, where either one alone may have failed. 

Between the two of them, Fuyuhiko’s ribs are half healed before they so much as let him get back out of bed. It’s gratifying, seeing the wonder when the Hatake starts to realize he can breathe deep again. Even if it’s only a stopgap, Tobirama is proud to have helped that happen. 

He’s less proud of how he tackles the idiot when Fuyuhiko decides to “try a light run” after being told that he’s cleared for light exercise. He hisses into the idiot’s face, “Define light exercise for me.” 

Thankfully, no one seems to mind. It probably helps that he’s healing any damage that the body slam and subsequent fall to the ground might have caused, even as he’s hissing about the man’s idiocy. The idiocy that continues to remind him of his brother. 

It’s been nearly two years now, and in spite of the ache of homesickness, Tobirama is still afraid to go back. Sometimes, he tells himself that it wasn’t as bad as he remembers. In his travels, he’s seen how siblings interact, and the interactions between himself and Hashirama weren’t all that different. Siblings fight with each other. With their training, he and Hashirama took it to a different level, but it’s the same, isn’t it? 

By now, he should be able to turn toward home. He should be able to make himself walk back to the Senju compound... and accept whatever punishment the elders see fit for the way he left. Gods know that Hashirama won’t step in on his behalf. He certainly never had in the past. 

Tobirama suspects that he’s just as leary of dealing with the elders as with seeing Hashirama again. Dealing with Fuyuhiko reminds him so strongly of his brother, that he’s going to be glad to leave here, no matter the feelings of nostalgia the Hatake leave him with. He’s enjoyed their company, once they grew used to his presence, but... It’s time to move on. 

There are children at his heels as he prepares to leave, and they’re under the watchful eyes of their parents - who smother laughter when Tobirama puts his best efforts into derailing the little monsters, and convincing them that following him isn’t the best game that they can come up with. He has no need of an apprentice, nor or the Hatake coming down on him for stealing one of their young. 

Because of the insistent younglings, he doesn’t get a chance to leave until evening, and much of the day is spent trying to decline gifts of provisions for the road, snacks for current, and random items that the various clan members seem to think one absolutely needs if traveling alone. 

He’s glad to be free of them. He is. 

The road looks lonelier, in the summer gloaming. The chittering of insects is oppressive. 

Tobirama starts walking anyway. 

* * *

Weeks later, Tobirama finds himself in the capital. It wasn’t an intentional choice, to come here, but unconsciously heading toward the highest concentration of people in the country. He already wishes that he didn’t. Big cities are filthy, and he hates walking through them. The people who live in them need help as much as people anywhere else, however. Often they need it more. 

It’s easy, to lose himself in curing the common ills of the poor. There are so many people, and many of them need help that they can’t afford to take to healers and physicians who will require pay. Civilian physicians are just as likely to kill them as help them, anyway. 

No one in their right mind would go to a civilian physician for anything but the most dire circumstances. Shinobi dread the idea of waking up in the care of so called doctors. Hashirama did once, and he came out of that experience harrowed. If it weren’t for his regenerative abilities, Hashirama would have come out of the experience two limbs short... and neither of those limbs were where the original injury was located. 

Tobirama doesn’t understand how they decided which limbs to remove, but it wasn’t with basic logic. It took months for even Hashirama’s strange regeneration to fully recover from the incident. Tobirama suspects that he never did recover mentally. 

Put him in front of a bone saw, and he still cries. Or at least, he did the last time Tobirama saw him in front of one. He probably shouldn’t laugh about it, but if Hashirama hadn’t always been so damned dramatic... 

Apparently, he can’t get Hashirama off his mind. Not even while lancing a festering wound to extract debris that should have been washed out of the wound in the first place. 

“Boil the water you use, if you must use water. Shōchū is prefered for rinsing wounds. That will kill the bacteria that are forming.” Tobirama demonstrates, much to his patient’s vocal distress. “Make sure that there’s _nothing still in the wound_ before applying any kind of poultice.” 

He supposes that he should be glad that they didn’t think to apply sulfur to the wound, like others he’s dealt with. People think that the strangest things need to go on, or into a wound, in order for it to heal, when cleaning it and leaving it be - unless it should become infected - are the best things one can do without chakra available. Yes, cover it, but that should only be to keep the wound _clean_. 

Some civilians get antsy when he uses chakra, so he has to use other things, when working with them. Cause and effect has been his teacher, once he left his grandmother’s side, and there are some ancient remedies that are even now useful. Such as honey. “Keep it fresh, and keep insects out of it,” he tells the man. “It will heal faster that way.” 

He puts up with the confused grumbles, but the instructions he gave were clear. It isn’t Tobirama’s fault if the man can’t follow them. Honey and shōchū should be easily affordable in the market. 

Next he has to convince a small family to stop poisoning themselves with the medicines sold to them by a civilian doctor - the city, it seems, has a theme, in what he has to deal with. Stabbings, infected wounds, and poisonings. 

Once he finds out what they are poisoning themselves over, he’ll teach them how to make something that will help with it. 

* * *

It shouldn’t surprise him to run into someone he knows while helping the prostitutes - he might have killed the man who claimed ownership of them, helping to set them up with someone else who he... doesn’t trust, exactly, but expects to treat the women with better care than the brothel’s previous owner. 

Shunsui seems... not much different than the last time they met, in spite of the way he radiates surprise. Tobirama chides himself for not paying attention to chakra signatures that he doesn’t recognize, especially strong ones. He and Shunsui haven’t seen each other in years, but it’s too much to hope that the man doesn’t recognize him. 

It never has mattered how he disguises himself, Shunsui always knows it’s him. And now that the disguise is essentially the opposite of a disguise... 

Shunsui grins so wide that Tobirama can see it, in spite of his issues. “Well, aren’t you lovely!” he says, swanning closer. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so... exposed!” 

Tobirama knows for a fact that Shunsui’s seen him naked, but the words have the intended effect of making the prostitute that Tobirama is carefully healing a bone break of laugh brightly. She turns and tugs at Tobirama’s haori - a much lighter one than the one he has packed away in his things for winter, alongside his bear fur coat. “Sensei, you can dress down a little. I’m sure you’ll look good like that!” 

Tobirama sighs. He dresses the way he does because it’s what he’s comfortable wearing, and he isn’t going to bother justifying it to anyone. “Shunsui. If you’re here for a prostate exam, wait your turn.” 

Shunsui laughs brightly. “No, but I would like to talk to you, when you have some time.” At Tobirama’s smile of acknowledgement Shunsui’s gone, likely to flirt with other prostitutes. 

The one he’s working with is one of those rarer civilians who’s actually more interested in watching him use chakra. “Ooh pretty colors,” is what she said when he originally started using iryo-chakra to work on her bones. The few times he’s worked with prostitutes, they’ve been some of his most calm patients. Many of them even commented on how non-invasive his work is. 

As if he needs more reasons to hate civilian healers. 

Eventually he finishes, and he finds an all too pleased Shunsui coming out of one of the rooms, much to his consternation. “Do you need me to check you for lover’s complaints? I should have done that before you slept with one of my _clean_ patients.” 

Shunsui rolls his eyes - Tobirama knows that turn of his head, the shift of his chakra. “I’m quite certain I’m clean, but if you must. We can speak in private, that way.” 

It is a good excuse, Tobirama admits, leading Shunsui back to the room he’s been using for exams. Rented, after a fashion, from the new madame of the brothel. “So,” he starts, and when he turns, he finds himself wrapped in a big hug. Shunsui has always been bigger than him. Usually, it doesn’t matter, but right now, he feels _dwarfed_. 

“Only you,” Shunsui mutters into his hair, “would disguise yourself like this, and hide in plain sight. A healer! What even gave you that idea?” Then he squeezes harder and Tobirama can’t answer. “It’s good to see you though. And you’ve gotten bigger! Maybe you’ll catch up to me yet!” 

Tobirama finds himself sagging into Shunsui’s hold, wondering, deep down, when was the last time he was hugged by someone who wasn’t also an over-enthusiastic patient, or the family of one. Probably Hashirama, and that thought makes his gut sour. Maybe Fuuko, but he hadn’t really seen her in the weeks leading up to him leaving. Perhaps his mother, but he hadn’t seen her either. 

“I should have known it was you,” Shunsui says, and his hold gentles from crushing, though Tobirama’s face is still buried in his chest. He smells... warm, beyond the scents of the brothel, and it’s oddly relaxing. Jasmine and sakura and cardamom, and a hint of something questionable that Tobirama recognizes from long ago. “I heard about this acerbic albino healer, and it sounded just like you... minus the healer part. What were you thinking? I’m sure you can do it just fine, but don’t you always say that you hate people?” 

“I tried to be a hermit,” Tobirama admits, voice muffled by Shunsui’s clothes. Shunsui hears him though, and laughs. “I missed people. It was stupid.” 

It feels strange, having Shunsui’s hands running up and down his back, but not bad. Tobirama sighs and relaxes further. “If you’re trying to avoid your clan, I won’t call you by name.” Shunsui’s voice is soft and warm. Almost hypnotic. “I wouldn’t mind being friends with the healer Shiro. I’ll make it known that you’re allowed to visit me, wherever I am, whenever you’d like. I had... other reasons to miss you, as well. More practical ones. Which is why I wanted to talk to you.” 

Tobirama makes a questioning sound, but... he thinks he might be falling asleep. It’s been such a long day, and now... If there is one person he can trust to have his back, no matter the situation... 

“It’s only rumor, as of yet,” Shunsui murmurs, voice dropping even lower as Tobirama’s eyes droop. “But they closed down the temple. I haven’t been able to go in myself, whereas someone with your talents... Would be able to suss out the truth...” 

“Mmm?” 

“Rumor has it... that our Lord Daimyo has lost his mandate.” 

* * *

Madara can’t just run off every time he hears rumors of Shiro. He _wants to_ , he admits, but as a clan head, he has other things to worry about than one wandering healer, no matter how much he likes him. When he’s in the capital, he already has a legitimate excuse to be there. And Izuna can put away that damned knowing look. Little brothers are so obnoxious. 

They’re meeting up with contacts and suppliers, and Madara manages to slip away for some private time while Izuna flirts with one of their contacts. He finds Shiro in the market, perusing a fruit stall with a worryingly blank expression. 

Shiro sees him coming, not unexpectedly, and his stance shifts slightly. Welcoming, but not overtly so. Willing for Madara to try talking to him anyway. Madara picks up one of the small melons Shiro was eyeing and pays for it without thought, splitting it in half and offering one to the healer. 

Shiro takes it, thanking him quietly, and Madara’s brain goes blank for a moment when Shiro sucks up the juice welling along the jagged, broken parts of the fruit’s flesh. It was an utterly unselfconscious motion, and now there’s fruit juice making Shiro’s lips shiny... It takes a moment to realize that Shiro’s staring at him, now, flushing faintly. 

Madara blinks, then flushes as well, because he knows better than to stare like that. Even if it’s really... really distracting, the way Shiro licks his lips, wiping the juice away in quick little swipes. Shiro looks... different, than the last time Madara saw him, and it’s... a good change, he thinks. Certainly an attractive one. 

He’s taller than Madara now, and that seems so unfair. It looks good, but if Shiro keeps growing - Madara isn’t likely to grow any more at this point - Madara will have to look up to meet his eyes. Even under that haori, though, there are muscles, and... Madara doesn’t think Shiro was all that muscular last time he saw him. It’s intriguing, even if he knows he doesn’t get to touch. 

Red is creeping up Shiro’s neck, and Madara has to drag his eyes back to the healer’s face. “I... heard you were in the area,” Madara manages, trying to find another place to look, because Shiro is _blushing_ and that’s even more unfair. 

“I’m not surprised,” Shiro says, and somehow, Madara finds himself walking next to him. “I... But of course, you’re here with Izuna. I can’t just abscond with you without talking to him as well...” 

What? Shiro wants to what with him? “W-what?” 

“Ah... I meant to ask your help with something,” Shiro says, and suddenly won’t meet his eyes. “Someone told me something that... They asked me to investigate it, as someone independent of any political structure in Hi no Kuni.” 

That slams through all of Madara’s distractions, earning his serious regard in a way not much else could. “Tell me what’s happening, and I’ll see if I can help.” 

Shiro doesn’t answer right away, just nibbles at his half of the melon and leads Madara to a high-scale tea house, which Madara probably won’t be able to afford. But the hostess takes one look at Shiro, and ushers them into a private room. Madara suspects that the proprietor owes Shiro, or someone with a lot of money does. 

Once he is certain they’re alone, Shiro explains what is going on, how he couldn’t deny an old friend’s plea, and how, if it turns out to be true, his friend wants him to carefully spread word of it. Madara hadn’t put any mind to those rumors when he heard them, but... knowing that the temple is closed now... It looks all too suspicious. As though the daimyo is hiding the source of the rumors. Madara doesn’t like thinking that way, but he can see what it looks like. 

“Do I want to know who owes you what, that you can just walk into a place like this?” This, being one of the fanciest tea houses Madara has ever been inside. Neat, clean and beautifully arranged, and no one comes to ask what they want. They just bring them high end - so very expensive - tea and wagashi that looks too perfect to touch. 

Someone takes their melon pieces, then brings them back, sliced in beautiful pale green squares that look like they belong among the other snacks. Madara’s afraid to touch them now, like his hands are too dirty to touch anything in this place. 

“The proprietor had a tumor. In his brain,” Shiro murmurs, once the servers have gone. “It was making him act irrationally, and his daughter came, and she asked me to help him. Drugged his tea. He... was grateful. Eventually.” 

Madara doesn’t know what kind of polite he’s supposed to be in a place like this, but he’s still hungry, and the melon is still _there_ , so he dubiously picks up a piece. It’s still good, sweet and juicy on his tongue. The fancy way it was cut doesn’t change that. “Izuna will want to know..." 

“I assumed as much,” Shiro agrees. His hands are more confident than Madara’s, among the expensive dishes and cups, and he pours Madara a second cup once Madara finishes the first. “In fact, I wouldn’t mind working with him, if he wishes to join us. I’m more familiar with his way of working.” 

A blow, but probably kindy meant. Because Izuna and Shiro _know_ each other. And... Madara can only be grateful that Izuna doesn’t seem interested in Shiro in that manner. “What can you tell me of this friend of yours?” 

Shiro smiles - a warm smile, not like any Madara has seen on him yet, and it’s another blow to the heart, knowing that Shiro wouldn’t smile like that for _him_ \- and says, “He’s someone I trust.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terms:
> 
> Wagashi: Snacks served with tea. Usually plant based.
> 
> Names:
> 
> Mikaze: “sacred wind,” spelled 聖風  
> Fuyuhiko: “winter prince,” spelled 冬彦  
> Fuuko: “wind fox,” spelled 風狐  
> Shunsui: "spring water," spelled 春水


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rival arrives???

“I don’t want to be responsible for a war, but if it’s true...”

Madara shivers, remembering the miserable curl of Shiro’s spine, the heartbreak clear in his voice. Perhaps if he hadn’t been obsessing over Shiro’s every emotional tell for so long - since they met - he might not have been able to tell.

He can see how this might lead to a war, and... His clan has always supported the daimyo, but... Shiro’s right. If it’s true, then... Lord Hanshin isn’t the rightful daimyo. Beyond that, Madara has had some warning of it. His mother’s letters seemed to imply that things needed to change. That they need to change _now_.

If the Lord Daimyo has lost his mandate, then Madara will back whoever seems most appropriate for the throne... likely the banished son, Lord Hakuoh. If they do it right, they can keep the death toll low. It’s silly, to think like this for a healer’s sake, but... Madara isn’t all that fond of killing when he doesn’t need too, anyway. Perhaps Shiro’s misery at the idea of being behind the start of a civil war is a good excuse to do what he would prefer anyway.

Bringing this up to Izuna, however is... not something Madara looks forward to.

Then Izuna throws him off by being _reasonable_ , of all things. “He says that they’ve closed off the temple? That’s highly suspicious. And it isn’t like he isn’t asking us to confirm it as well. Shiro’s... He’s an honorable sort, but he’s not telling you to take him at his word.”

Madara scoffs, scrubbing a hand through his hair and beginning to pace. “He’s not taking his friend at his word, more like.” He wants that to mean that Shiro _doesn’t_ actually trust that friend, but knows that it’s just jealousy talking.

“Sounds more like the friend wanted him to confirm it before, you know, spreading it around,” Izuna says, disagreeing in that stupidly reasonable sounding way of his. “That Shiro asked you to help... Heh. Looks good for your crush. A little less so, that he’s asking for me to come along as well, but I’m sure I can push you two into a closet together or something. Be a good brother and all.”

“You’re a shitty brother,” Madara grumbles, dropping onto his futon - and hoping that Izuna isn’t in a “good brother” mood, and planning to be generally helpful in _anything_. Last time Izuna decided to do laundry for Madara, nothing fit right afterwards. Making beds... Madara prepared his earlier, but he’s been out since. It doesn’t feel like anything is off, but one never knows.

Izuna pouts at him, then throws a paper wrapped package at him. It lands on his face, and it’s warm and damp. Oily damp. It turns out to be food, of the deep fried variety. After the fancy teahouse, and its rich food, it’s so very welcome, in all of its cheap, questionable glory. He has no idea what the filling is made from, but it’s greasy and savory, and he’ll probably regret eating it later. “I’m a wonderful brother, and you’ll do well to remember that!”

Madara grumbles a ‘thank you’ around a mouthful, rolling his eyes. Izuna’s so overly dramatic. And whiny. He’s good at finding tasty things in the market’s fast food stalls, though, so Madara can forgive him. It isn’t worth poking at him, anyway, not if he wants to take a nap before meeting up with Shiro.

They have time for a few hours of sleep, if he manages it quickly enough.

* * *

Tobirama hasn’t lost his skills as a shinobi. He’s still unmatched as a sensor, and stealth is old hat. The samurai guarding the temple don’t even see his shadow, or hear the whisper of his sandals against tile or wood.

Madara and Izuna join him just inside the temple - which is worryingly silent. All the guards are outside, and Tobirama can’t sense a single priest. They stick to the shadows in spite of there being no signs of inhabitation. Izuna easily keeps up, proving that his health, at least, has gotten better.

It’s Madara who slows, well before they reach the inner sanctum. Izuna makes impatient noises, but Tobirama can feel it. Madara radiates disquiet, though he keeps his voice appropriately hushed when he asks, “Where is everyone?”

That’s what finally gets Izuna’s attention. “What do you mean?”

Tobirama answers him. “The entire place is empty, but for the guards outside the door. At least, it’s empty of anything I can sense. It’s possible that there are guards that I can’t sense.” He’s never met anyone that can suppress their chakra beneath what he can sense. Hashirama’s trick was always to weave his energy into their surroundings, and Tobirama suspects that he relies on the mokuton to do so. “I would be more concerned about inhuman things.”

He nearly flinches when Izuna’s fist lashes out to whack Madara in the shoulder. “You should have told me that there might be demons!”

“You’re a demon,” Madara hisses back, rubbing his shoulder, and Tobirama’s eyebrows raise. It occurs to him that he hadn’t actually witnessed them together off the battlefield, and with Izuna well. It’s... enlightening.

“Children, children,” Tobirama sighs. “I’m _rusty_ and I’m more subtle than the both of you. If you don’t behave, I’m going to head to the altar alone.” Much to his amusement, like the children he named them as, the Uchiha are suddenly contrite and well behaved.

The inner sanctum is just as dark and empty as the rest of the temple, and visually, there seems to be nothing amiss... until Izuna points out that there’s dust on the shrine... which implies that the priests have been gone for at least a week. Tobirama can’t actually see the dust without leaning in close, but his nose tells him other things.

“Smell that?” he asks. There’s a foul tang in the air that he’s more than familiar with. It’s... difficult to believe that even the mad would do such a thing, but... he knows that smell.

Izuna and Madara seem to realize what he’s referring to at the same time, identical looks of disgusted horror twist their faces. “He wouldn’t!” Izuna hisses. “Who would even do it for him?”

“We’re going to have to find the bodies,” Madara sighs. “I... can’t believe he could have the mandate now. Not if he was willing to..."

“You two find the bodies, I’ll... see if I can coax a response from the kami.” Tobirama settles down before the shrine, shooing them off. “Try not to find any evil spirits while you’re at it.” Izuna mutters about finding some salt, but they do as he requests.

In Tobirama’s experience, every kami is different, in how they deal with mortals. Some are quite friendly, others disdainful of interacting with humans. Often, acknowledgement is little more than a passing sensation of whatever the kami decides to grace you with.

This time isn’t unusual, but for that the kami deigns to interact at all. It’s nothing more than a jumble of emotions, images and impressions and an impressive headache that begins throbbing against his temples before he even opens his eyes. They don’t have time - or perhaps they do - to wait for him to dissect the information he was given.

He’s in the process of standing back up when Izuna comes flying around the corner, Madara just behind him. Izuna doesn’t even slow upon reaching him. He scoops him up with the full force of his run, accidentally slamming his shoulder into Tobirama’s gut in the process.

He almost loses his stomach. He looks up to see Madara’s apologetic, if still freaked out, face. “We aren’t up to handling some things,” Madara says, and then they’re outside - the guards notice them, alright, but don’t have a chance to even shout before they’re out of range, in the city.

They come to a stop on a roof, and Tobirama gags when Izuna lets him down. Between the stench of him, the inertia, and the kami induced migraine, he feels like he’s contracted botulism. “You utter fucker,” he gasps, gagging again. “A little warning would have been appreciated. I could have kept up just fine running, you know.”

Madara cringes, but Izuna just shrugs. “We didn’t have time to warn you. It was... sudden on our end, too. And I didn’t have time to find salt.”

“They were kyonshī,” Madara says. “A lot of them. So many of them.”

Tobirama has to take a moment to quell his headache and nausea, in preparation before he yells. “They’re slow! Kyonshī are _slow_. There was no need to rush like that!”

“I panicked,” Izuna admits, shrugging, and Madara shrinks pitifully on himself.

“They _hop_ ,” Tobirama says, slowly. This is like talking to a moron. Usually he has a higher opinion of Izuna’s intelligence, but this is... special. “Like they’re bound at the ankles and knees. Like rigor mortis has set in and not fully left. A toddler could outrun one.”

“Yeah, well, they also look like sad drunks a lot of the time, and some people like to be _helpful_...” Izuna pinches the bridge of his nose, like he’s the one with a headache. “Look, I have some issues with them, okay. You don’t see me poking fun at your childhood traumas!”

That’s... more reasonable than Tobirama would have expected. He can’t just expect someone to ignore a phobia. Not even Izuna. “So what’s Madara’s excuse?”

Madara coughs. “I haven’t actually seen one before. Izuna... obviously knew what they were, so I just... followed his lead.”

Much to Tobirama’s irritation, that is also pretty reasonable. He _wants_ to be annoyed with them. He’s nauseated, and his head is starting to pound rhythmically. If he can’t be _reasonably_ irritated, he’s going to be _un_ reasonable... which he hates in himself. He can feel the way his lip starts to stick out - pouting is a terribly habit, one he has in common with Hashirama - and forces his expression into a grouchy scowl instead.

“Warning would still have been preferred,” he tells Izuna. “You’re lucky I didn’t vomit on you. I’m sure my stomach will never recover.” His fingers are pleasantly cool when he presses them to his forehead. “Someone - not me - is going to have to _subtly_ inform the guards that there’s a kyonshī problem starting up in the city. I can’t afford to be involved with this, if I’m to do as my friend asked.” He’s not looking forward to any of this - that they daimyo would defile the temple! That was far beyond the worse that he expected. “I would... suggest informing your allies. It will save me a lot of leg work.”

Madara makes a strange noise, and Tobirama glances up to see him squirming - silly, because Madara is... He’s one of the most dangerous people in the world, yet here he is, squirming because of some kind of... crush. (That’s all it is, Tobirama knows. Even though it’s lasted as long as it has, that’s only because they are rarely in each other’s presence. Such things fade when people have to deal with him often.) “Thank you!” Madara blurts, and behind him, Izuna smacks his palm over his own face.

“Say that again,” Tobirama tells him, “when we’re at war.”

* * *

Izuna’s laughing at him, and Madara is... He’s mortified. He was just trying to thank Shiro for including them in his investigation. He didn’t mean for Shiro to take it that way. Went cold at his response, because... right. Yeah. Things like this... it will mean war, sooner or later.

The sooner the better. The longer it takes, the worse things will get for the country, on the spirit side of things. Madara still can’t believe that they ran into kyonshī! Do they even have yang earth in the temple? Yang earth is supposed to be _rare_... Unless it was imported..! And he’s internally digressing. The kyonshī are a symptom of a much larger problem.

“I know you’re... against making peace with the Senju,” Madara starts, mood suddenly mellowing into something almost melancholy. “But... Even the elders would probably agree that we don’t want to be fighting them at the same time as... whoever is going to continue backing the daimyo - probably samurai, and rural clans.” Izuna isn’t snickering anymore. Instead, he’s worryingly silent, and watching Madara. “Anyone who isn’t in a position to see what’s happening... I think. Hashirama would listen, and... if he words things to his own clan right? We might have peace sooner than you think.”

“It only takes a civil war to get peace with the Senju?” Izuna asks, mouth twisting. He holds up a hand when Madara starts to reply. “I’m not arguing that it’s feasible. I just... I don’t like that man. It isn’t..." He sighs, and heaves himself to his feet in order to pace. “It isn’t about the clan. It’s personal. I’m... willing to back you, if you go for it. If... if Shiro could do it - I know he’s treated former enemies, even people who’ve tried to kill him - why can’t I? It’s not like I _have_ to like him.”

Izuna’s dislike of Hashirama is something that Madara _used_ to put down to the secret friendship and the incident at the river when they were children, yet it had only intensified in recent years. There was never much of an explanation, just Izuna snarling impolite things before leaving to do his own thing.

“Alright. I’ve let this go for long enough,” Madara says, putting on his best Big Brother face. “What the hell happened that makes you hate him on a personal level? If this is about the river, I’ll let it go, but I think it stopped being about that a long time ago.”

Izuna makes a complicated Little Brother face in response. “It isn’t about the river. I just. Learned a few things about him. Personally. He’s..." Another complicated face, and Izuna is obviously struggling for words. With a gusty sigh, he finally says, “You know how family is supposed to be everything?”

Madara nods, wary. Hashirama has bemoaned missing his little brother during almost every meetup they’ve had since that time. He highly suspects that Izuna is going to say something that Madara’s going to have to refute.

“I ran into Tobirama, not long before..." Another face, and a rude gesture into the ether. Izuna pauses his pacing to wander toward the balcony - an escape route, mostly, but they could almost see the stars, which made the safehouse more comfortable than it could have been. “Anyway. He was... I’m pretty sure Hashirama is the reason he disappeared. Clan shit aside, Tobirama was... he was alright. If it weren’t for our clans, I like to think we could have been friends.”

That’s news to Madara, and it’s almost disappointing that he hadn’t already known. It’s really too bad that he’s sure that Tobirama is dead. “Hashirama keeps asking me to try to find him,” he says, and sees Izuna’s eyes widening too late to back track. “Hey. I pick up valuable intelligence, because the idiot doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut! And besides, it gives me a leg up in convincing him of what we found today.”

For a moment, Izuna waffles, expression twisting between disgust and horror. “Kyonshī, in the temple,” he shudders. “Murdering the priests... Who would be _stupid_ enough to murder priests in the capital’s main temple?”

“Same person who thought it was a good idea to bring in yang earth?” Madara asks, rhetorically. And... Isn’t that a terrible thought? The idea that someone may have done that on purpose. “Do you think..?”

“Gods, I hope not. Isn’t this whole thing cursed enough? I hope that whatever Shiro saw, it was... hopeful. Because Hi no Kuni is in a bad place right now, aniki.”

* * *

Tobirama is on the verge of running, again. Kyonshī in the capital’s major temple. A daimyo who’s lost his Mandate. His connection, his _treaty_ with the spirit world is now null and void.

He wants to leave, to go somewhere where he won’t have to deal with this. Across the ocean, maybe. Across the deserts to the west, or the ice fields in the distant north. There are nomads up there, whose language he doesn’t speak, though he’s certain he can manage. He learns quickly, so a language barrier is only a temporary setback.

It would be better than this.

As much as he had missed Shunsui, he wishes he hadn’t seen him. His friend gave him a dark and terrible task, and... Tobirama isn’t as good at divorcing himself from his emotions, anymore.

He’s not _going_ to run, as much as he wants to. The dark and terrible task... It needs to be done. And Shunsui is trusting him. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he murmurs, watching his friend give the young princess - the daimyo’s daughter, and preferred heir - a courtly bow. The girl sneers, but accepts his arm.

They don’t see him, though Shunsui seems to sense his presence. The man is one of the few who can match him, and for all he likes to pretend to be a buffoon... He’s wily, cunning, sharp as razor wire. And his senses are nearly as acute as Tobirama’s own.

Shunsui catches his signal - a short, muted flare of chakra, warning Shunsui that he’s waiting - and cuts his evening short. Charming everyone but the young princess while citing a desire for an early rest.

The girl watches him leave, a suspicious glint in her eyes, and Tobirama is certain that she’s even sharper than she appears. She may be young, but she’s clearly going to be an enemy. In their favor, she isn’t capable of fading into the background. Her royal upbringing does her poorly in that. And while she likely has agents that can do so, Tobirama is still more than capable of fending off suspicion.

While one can get about the palace without being seen, sometimes it’s best to let others draw their own conclusions about what might be happening.

Tobirama knows what he looks like, and Shunsui has... an interesting reputation. Being thought to leave a political function to meet up with a lover is exactly the sort of thing people would believe of him. That Tobirama has his own reputation, as the healer, Shiro, only adds to it.

Shunsui did say he wanted to be friends with Shiro. It wouldn’t hurt to have rumor assume them to be lovers. It would make a good excuse to meet up with him, when given the opportunity.

(He doesn’t think about how Madara might feel about it, though that’s an active decision on his part. Tobirama can’t make decisions based on a crush, one that he knows will fade if Madara ever gets to know him.)

In a place like this, the walls have eyes and ears, and he can’t just go his way without speaking to Shunsui. Can’t assume that Shunsui is aware - though he most likely is. So he greets him with a kiss, an awkward brush of lips against lips, before melting against him, like before. The kiss, he knows, wouldn’t be all that convincing, but _this_ will be.

“Feeding rumors,” he murmurs against Shunsui’s throat, and relaxes at the thrum of amusement in his friend’s chest. No one but Shunsui will hear him, while they lean together like this. And his friend’s embrace is strangely comforting, so he has no problem staying like this for as long as he needs to. “Speaking of: It’s worse than we thought. There were kyonshī in the temple. The priests are dead. I..."

“Come, sit with me a while,” Shunsui says, nothing in his tone betraying his unease. “After all, I cut my evening short to spend time with my good friend.” He bundles Tobirama up, into his lap, sitting with him among pillows that are meant for such a purpose. “Your work is stressful,” he says, lowering his voice, though still putting on a show. “I don’t want for you to have to think on it while you’re here with me.”

“What a lovely line!” Tobirama can’t help but snort. He’s not a good actor, but... A more honest reaction to Shunsui’s words hopefully won’t be damaging. “My work is done as soon as I’ve finished it. You don’t need to worry about _that_. I’m not carrying it with me..." Though he sighs in the embrace, dropping his voice to only be heard by Shunsui. “It wouldn’t do to be seen as something I’m not. And I can argue with you while I relax. It’s... pleasant, in a way.”

Shunsui laughs, a tension that Tobirama didn’t even recognize draining out of him. “Want to keep me on my toes, do you?”

“You’re hardly in a position where you can afford to grow complacent.” Between inane chatter and thoughtless arguing, where Tobirama finds that he and Shunsui don’t actually see eye to eye on a lot of things, he slips in every scrap of information he can, while Shunsui does the same for him. He also lets Shunsui know that he spent the afternoon with Madara - a subtle way telling him that the Uchiha know everything.

In spite of the direness of the situation, the heaviness of what brought him here... They eventually drift off into _actual_ conversation, and it’s pleasant. Tobirama missed being able to just talk with someone, and with Shunsui, there’s no fear. He doesn’t have to worry about being found out, about word getting back to his brother.

Even sitting in his lap is oddly comforting. Comfortable.

Shunsui’s wandering hands are less so, but Tobirama remembers that well enough. He... considers it. His only experiences thus far have been unpleasant, and Shunsui is... He trusts Shunsui.

In the end, he can’t come to a decision. Not right now. If he’s to try it, he would prefer true privacy, which the palace doesn’t offer.

Treacherously, his mind suggests that Madara might be a good option as well, but... Tobirama doesn’t know Madara well. He’s afraid of giving in, on that regard, and wants to ask Shunsui’s advice. Although, knowing him, Shunsui would probably tell him to go for it. If it doesn’t work out, that’s life. It’s annoying, and he’s certain that that’s exactly what Shunsui would tell him.

“I’m afraid I can’t have sex with you right now,” he says, and delights in how Shunsui’s chakra gives the impression of choking in surprise, even if Shunsui is good enough that he only smiles, questioningly. “I’m a very private person, and there are too many eyes on us now.”

Shunsui isn’t quite good enough at controlling his face to hide his reaction at that. “That’s... cruel. They’re trying to be discreet, my lovely friend.”

“They’re doing badly,” Tobirama replies, bluntly.

“Your standards are too high, my dear,” Shunsui says, leaning in flirtatiously. “Not everyone can stand up to your level of competence and grace.”

“Well. You’ve managed,” he says, and it’s getting harder and harder to keep his expression bland.

Shunsui all but purrs at the crude compliment. “You flatter me!” He nuzzles in, like he’s kissing Tobirama’s ear, and murmurs, “If that was a signal that it’s time for you to go... I would like to see you again soon.”

“Soon,” Tobirama promises, extracting himself from Shunsui’s arms. “Or... you could always come to find me. If other people can manage it, I’m sure that for you, it would be a breeze.”

Shunsui grins, pulls him back in for a kiss that he can’t quite avoid - isn’t certain he wants to. It isn’t unpleasant at all, which would make things easier, he thinks. “I really should. And perhaps, I will.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things of note:
> 
> Kyonshī: The Japanese spelling of Jiangshi - Chinese hopping vampires. In their early stages, they're only truly dangerous to the unwary, and the feeble.

**Author's Note:**

> I have recently gained a policy of clarifying confusing details in my notes. If anything seems confusing - such as a Japanese words or customs that you aren’t familiar with - let me know, and if it’s relevant to the story, I’ll make sure to add it to the notes. If you want to chat with me about anything at all, find me on [discord](https://discord.gg/ucQGFB6).


End file.
